


Night Life

by Ook



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternative Universe- No Powers, Always rob the would-be rapist., And Chapter 12, Attempted Rape, Caution: inadvisible taser usage, Charles Is a Darling, Erik can either stop brooding willingly or Charles will make him stop., Erik if you don't want people to like and trust you stop bloody rescuing them!, Erik is a grumpy bunny, Erik will get used to the hugging at some point, Especially if what you need is an AU Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr, Film in Chapter 11 about that, Fluff fluff... angst!, Horrible deaths of nasty people, It came from my brain!, Libraries contain everything you need, M/M, Oh No FEELINGS, Shaw you creepy creepy fucker., Shirtless Erik will steal all your words., Some blood and stuff, Vampire saliva is remarkably useful in many ways, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 46,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young journalist, or researcher, or whatever he is, is going to get himself in trouble around here. Erik can tell.</p><p>A researcher who doesn't know when to stop.<br/>A man who doesn't take no for an answer.<br/>A vampire that doesn't give interviews. </p><p> An author who shouldn't be starting another WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter ends with a drink being spiked and an attempted rape. Please be warned.

The young man- Journalist? Researcher? Erik can’t quite tell- is going to get himself into trouble, sooner or later. He’s been hanging around Erik’s territory for a few weeks now, but it is obvious he is not one of the street’s natural citizens. His precise, English, accent isn’t the giveaway, and neither are his bright blue eyes or his ridiculously good natured hair. It isn’t even the cardigans. What gives him away his nature: sunny and friendly to all (which Erik privately considers indicates _brain damage_ ), open and trusting. 

He’s going to get into trouble. Erik hopes it’s not too extreme, as that will likely bring attention to this part of the city Erik could happily manage without. Hopefully the young man won’t cause trouble; but he’s clearly a creature made of curiosity, in the same way Erik has heard himself described as a “creature of darkness, of blood and iron violence.” The description doesn’t trouble him, much. It’s overly dramatic, and a little too accurate, but most people never notice what’s right in front of them.

Except this one seems to. He’s spoken to Crazy Betsy, who draws charms and wards against evil and black magic everywhere, and sleeps behind a dumpster. The charms and wards are not effective, Betsy says- Erik could have told her that years ago, but that would require unnecessary contact with another human being; not Erik’s favourite activity- but she lets him learn them, anyway. The young researcher brought two thermos of tea, sat with Betsy a while, sketched her wards into his notebook, and left her smiling.

He spoke to Logan, the angry ex military guy who’s sometimes here, and actually got a response other than an obscene gesture and/or a punch in the face. And then he seemed perfectly happy to listen to Logan’s war stories (women, booze, and blood) for hours, until Logan unbent enough to tell this bright-eyed scrap of humanity the real stories he hides; the unbelievable ones about medical experiments and other such paranoid ramblings. The young researcher wrote them all down in is notebook, solemnly, and _Logan let him._

 _Trouble,_ Erik thinks, gloomily to himself, and sinks another mouthful of the unholy liquid that is currently masquerading as beer in this shithole of a bar. He watches as the young man- apparently he calls himself Charles- gets out his notebook again. Charles is beaming; but he’s not touching his beer. Erik approves; it’s good to see the pup has some elements of self protection in him. He’s talking to William, who claims to be a vampire, of course, and William’s little crowd wannabe hangers-on. 

Erik does not roll his eyes. They’re all ignorant, spoilt children, up past their bedtimes, to him. They know nothing of real life; in fact they probably don’t want to and don’t have to. So they dream about glittery vampires; children of the night with clean, flowing hair and inability to develop acne. They cluster around William (what vampire calls himself _William_?), shivering in mock terror and fake awe, looking for thrills without danger, excitement without danger. _Puppies._

None of them would recognise a real threat if it bought them a beer. Given that William bought the drinks again, none of them _have._ They’re all stupidly confident; ignorant of the harm the world can do, thinking that they’re _brave_ , coming downtown to a place like this, and thinking that they’re dangerous, untouchable, simply because no-one has bothered to slap them down yet. Erik has watched William-the-not-vampire for a while, now. Sometimes the young hangers on stop coming rather abruptly, sometimes they come back a time or two, bruised and disbelieving. He bets _that’s_ not going to find its way into Charles’s hovering notebook, if William has a choice in the matter. And William does. He’s a strong man of indeterminate age, and he’s charismatic. Even Charles is clearly struggling not to hang on his every word.

Erik grinds his teeth; he has not been innocent in many years, and he has never had the luxury of ignorance about the world’s potential to cause harm. Charles laughs, and his eyes glint in the underwater light of the bar. William-the-not-vampire lays a hand on his arm. Erik stands, abruptly, and heads out to the restroom, as it’s so quaintly labelled, to unload some of the dire beer before it swamps him completely. 

On his way back, he spots something… curious, curious enough for a whole fleet of notebooks. William’s gone to the bar again, and he’s clearly not buying beer this time. Erik slows his steps, and observes from the corner of his eye. Yes, it’s whiskey- what passes for it around here, anyway. Basically, its expensive horse piss mixed with rubbing alcohol. Erik tried it once. _Never again._ William has dropped a little something into the glass. A pill, most likely. Erik sighs, and sips the last of of his revolting beer-like-substance, makings a bet with himself as to who’s the lucky target this time. Erik catches the cynical slide of his thoughts and is disgusted; with himself, with William-the-not-vampire, with the world. At times like this, there’s only one cure. He goes outside for a smoke, and curses the anti smoking laws that drive him there, as he goes.

Erik sighs as he lights his cigarette. He has to admit, he’s a little surprised- he knew William did something to drive away hangers on from time to time- but not something as _modern_ as a roofie. William is not an original thinker; nor is he all that good at seduction, despite his ability to spin a good yarn, clearly. Nor is he a decent predator, if he has to handicap his prey like this. Still, Erik has little sympathy for William’s giggling idiots. And he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, even here. 

Especially here. The local street is also a no smoking area, but there’s a handy alley round the back of the bar which has no CCTV camera. It’s full of cigarette ends, and other illegal detritus. Erik is half way through his cigarette, when he hears the voices. _Just great._ William’s voice is half coaxing, half confident. The other voice is slurred and confused. Erik doesn’t recognise it, at first.

“Come on, baby, you’ll be fine. Just a quick-“ William-the-not-vampire says, cheerfully.  
“No. No, I don’t feel well. I don’t… I shouldn’t have had the whiskey.” _No, you shouldn’t have_ , thinks their silent observer. He hears muffled noises, the chink of a belt buckle. He flicks away his cigarette and slides up the alleyway towards the voices.  
“No. Please. William, I want to go _home_.” The slurred voice says, as Erik ghosts into view.  
“Sure. I’ll get you home. Soon as you’ve been good to me, babe.” William is tugging at the other man’s waist band; he’s already stripped him of his cardigan, which lies at their feet like a discarded pet. 

The other man- and it is Charles- steps away, and staggers. William gathers him up again, laughing over his mumbled protests.  
“Come on- you know you owe me.”  
“Nooooooo.” It’s more of a whisper than a shouted protest. If Erik had a heart, the plaintive little sound would have tugged on it. The trousers come down, and William drops the other man to the filthy floor with a little push. He steps back, and smirks, fumbling with his belt. His breathing is heavy. Erik gives a mental sigh- he should not become involved with this, he _should not,_ but he can’t help himself. 

He steps forwards again; making sure William can see him. Maybe a warning will do the trick.  
“Hey.” Erik says, calmly. “What’s going on?” William swings round and Erik’s pleased to note the tiny flash of fear in his eyes as he steps closer to Charles’s sprawled form.  
“Nothing.” William blusters at first. “Nothing at all.” Then he sees it’s Erik, and he relaxes. “Oh. It’s you.” His face turns sly. “Unless… You don’t mind sharing, maybe?” On the floor, Charles tries to get up, clumsily. William kicks his arm, and he collapses again.

He smirks at Erik, invitingly. “I’ve seen you, _watching_ him.” Erik freezes. He fights back the immediate, instinctive, violent response. Charles’ eyes are still open, even if he’s clearly not following what’s happening. Erik will not lose control, not over this, not over some disgusting back-alley rapist and his ignorant assumptions. _He will not._ Erik moves. He bends low, ducking the other’s slow, feeble blow and then straightens. The first punch catches William in the gut, the second in the face, as he hunches automatically. 

Erik ducks again, seizes William’s leg, and _pulls._ William crashes to the floor. Erik pulls on the leg again, and William shrieks. Erik ignores him. He walks, dragging the other man by the leg, until they’re close to the alley mouth. It’s easy enough, with Erik in his current temper. Erik pauses and calculates. He kicks William three times; gut, ribs, and groin. The man screams, writhes, and vomits, satisfactorily. No one appears to hear anything. Erik spares time for a glance back up the alley. No sign of Charles, yet. _Good_. He squats by William’s trembling, semi conscious form, and goes through his pockets, briskly. He never misses a chance to make a little cash.

Erik removes all the cash from the wallet, and checks for a bill roll. By the time he’s tucked that away, William has regained enough awareness to lie, hugging his broken ribs and staring, wide eyed at Erik. Erik looks at him, and is gratified at the naked fear he sees.  
“You’re going to be sensible about this, aren’t you?” he says, cheerily. Shakily, William nods.  
“You’re not going to come around here again, are you?" Erik continues. William nods again. Erik continues riffling through his pockets, casually. Erik confiscates a bottle of pills, a set of zip ties and a knife. He raises an eyebrow. William shudders. 

Erik smiles, and makes sure the other man sees his teeth. _All_ his teeth. Erik leans very close, and hisses, sibilantly in his ear:  
“And you know you’re going to stop doing this, _aren’t_ you?” William nods, even as he wets himself. Erik wrinkles his nose in disgust.  
“Go on. Off with you.” He makes no attempt to help the other man up, leaves him staggering and leaning on the wall as he turns back up the alley. William has been dealt with.

Erik’s mind is fixed on Charles now; he supposes he’d better help get him home. He didn’t just punch out one man to leave the researcher to the mercy- or lack thereof- of the next furtive smoker, after all. If something’s worth doing, it’s worth completing. Erik strolls back up the alley calmly, hands in his pockets. Charles is not lying where he was; Erik sighs again. He must have crawled off somewhere. Perhaps- A metal pipe whirs past his head and clangs off the nearby wall. Erik blinks.

“Go-go away!” Charles gasps, and swings the pipe again. Erik ducks. The pipe clangs again, and Charles staggers as he picks it up again. _Well, this is just perfect_ , Erik thinks. He takes his hands out of his pockets.  
“I’m not going to hurt you, Charles.” Erik puts all his persuasiveness in his voice. Charles slows, the pipe drooping in his hand. Erik steps closer, and Charles raises the pipe again.  
Erik sighs. He’s been doing a lot of that this evening. He blames Charles. 

The pipe is too heavy for his drugged muscles; Erik can see it wavering in his grip.  
“I- I said no!” Charles says, despairingly. Erik side steps, grabs the pipe, and twists.  
“That you certainly did. I heard you.” He says, soothingly. The pipe rips itself out of Charles’s grasp, clangs against the wall again and rolls out of reach. Charles gives a tiny sob as he stands, drugged, unsteady, weaponless, but still defiant.

Erik rather thinks he might risk falling in love with the man.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wakes up, and reads a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles has to deal with the trauma of an attempted assault he cannot remember in this chapter. Possibly triggery.

Charles groans. What did he _drink_ last night? His head is _pounding._ He feels sick, sicker than he’s been in a long time. The Xavier resistance to alcohol ( _thanks, ever so, Mother dear_ ) appears to have deserted Charles for the night. He risks opening his eyes, and doesn’t immediately regret it: he must have remembered to pull the curtains last night when he came home. His room is sunk in comfortable half light which is pleasantly soothing. Just then, his stomach rebels, sharply. Charles lurches out of bed and staggers to the bathroom, where he spends a considerable amount of time on his knees, hunched over the toilet. By the time he’s done with that, he’s sweating and shaking. Perhaps he’s coming down with the flu? Charles picks up his toothbrush and gets to work cleaning away the foul left over taste of bile. As he does so, he sorts through his fragmented memories of the night before.

He’d popped downtown for another research hour or five, Charles remembers that. Logan hadn’t been around, and neither had Angel, the girl who insisted on wearing her fairy wings all the time, no matter what. A pity. She’d said she’d show Charles how she made them, out of wire coat hangers and string, and glitter the next time she saw him. And then… What? He can remember a bar, yes, and beer, he thinks- who was there? None of his friends, he knew that, and none of the people he could ask for information after the fact. Maybe some of the slummers- the people who came down to the rougher side of town to feel “cool” and “edgy”, as if there’s some kind of virtue in using other people’s lives as a theatre backdrop for one’s own performance- were there. He can’t be sure of anything.

Charles catches sight of himself in the mirror, haunted eyes and- is that a bruise on his face? Grazes on his fingers? Charles covers his mouth with his hand, and bows back towards the toilet. His clothes are neatly piled on the chair, everything but his boxers, which he’s still wearing. Charles never folds his dirty clothes. He’s shaking. What the hell happened, and why can’t he _remember_ any of it? How the hell did he get _home_ , if he was blackout drunk at the time? He doesn’t throw up again, but it’s a near thing. He drinks a long gulp of water, and leans on the sink for a bit, until he’s sure the water will stay down. Then Charles huddles back under the covers of his bed for a while. Eventually dread and curiosity curdle in his gut, and he reaches for his phone, to see if that can help with his quest to reconstruct the night before. It’s on the nightstand, next to his wallet and keys. And a letter. Charles fumbles for it, hastily.

_My dear Charles Xavier,_

_(according to your ID, that is your name.) You do not know me, although I have seen you floating around out sad little community over recent months. Last night, someone attempted indignities with your person; your drink was adulterated with some noxious substance or other._

_I believe such things may have affected your memory of last evening, which is why I write to you now. Please be assured the intended assault did not take place; I happened to be passing by, and was able to intervene. The perpetrator has been dealt with, and should trouble you no more._

_I also took the liberty of ensuring your safe homecoming. I apologise for searching your person for your keys and address; but I am not a person who deals well with the authorities, and you seemed well enough that medical assistance was not necessary._

_Incidentally, you ought to change your locks, or at least add a decent chain to your front door. This is a most unsafe city.  
Furthermore, might I suggest you only carry out your research (or whatever purpose you have in visiting the area) either in the hours of daylight, or with a bodyguard or two? I can’t be_ everywhere _, you know._

_Sincerely, EL_

 

Charles reads the letter. He blinks, brain grinding along in neutral for far too long. Then he reads it again. Ok. So. Last night someone- His brain whites out, briefly. Last night someone tried to, to _rape_ him? He _thinks_ that’s what the writer’s getting at. It’s hard to be sure, the writing is strange, faintly copperplate. It might look elegant or old fashioned, apart from the part where it was written on a series of post its note with Charles’ own leaking biro. Anyway. Someone drugged him, and tried to… well, anyway, this stranger wants him to know they didn’t succeed. And that the assailant- perpetrator had been “dealt with” Charles wonders at that, as the writer goes on to say he? She? Said that they don’t like the authorities; Charles is prepared to bet that being “dealt with” didn’t include a 911 call. He shivers again. And then this stranger brought Charles home; and put him to bed. 

This helpful stranger then took the time to notice Charles’ security system, and write him a helpful note about it, as well pulling the curtains for him. Also, as well as undressing him almost completely. This means he probably saw the scars and- No. Not relevant. Suddenly, panicking at the idea of being helpless, in the hands of strangers, _twice_ , Charles gives himself a frantic, finger tip inspection everywhere he can reach. He finds nothing untoward. No strange soreness, no cuts or needle marks. Nothing to say the stranger was lying, or that they were telling the truth. Only the bruise on Charles’s face and his scraped hands are new to him. Still, Charles feels unspeakably grimy and vulnerable. 

He flees to the shower, and scrubs, and scrubs, and _scrubs._ He pretends he does not cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik likes libraries. And being alone. No, really, he completely loves it.

Erik doesn’t see Charles for a while. He’d worry, but he knows the other man got home alright, because he took him. William’s little crowd of worshippers dry up and blow away when the centre of their idiocy disappears. Crazy Betsy gives up on magic symbols and decides to start reading people’s minds, instead. She’s rarely right about what Erik’s thinking, but that’s because most of the time, she’s too afraid to try. Erik scares her. _Good._ Erik goes back to his regular routine; walking the streets in a variety of places most nights, except when he’s lazy and stays inside. 

One time he wanders off away from his usual haunts and is surprised when the streets seem more than vaguely familiar. Erik doesn’t know why, until he recognises Charles’ building, from the distinctive fire escape, and then everything clicks into place. Erik curses his feet, and walks away, quickly. Although Charles is easy on the eyes, Erik knows better than to risk becoming involved with anyone. People pay attention, then, and attention is exactly the sort of thing Erik does not need. Erik doesn’t need very much, these days. And he’s never bothered to accumulate unnecessary things. He has his room, and his books, and his seventeen library memberships, and with those, he could outwait eternity, if he has to. William’s money keeps him going in little luxuries for a good while too. It’s not that Erik doesn’t have money, and other resources, but he’s finally learnt to be both discreet and practical; he saves these things for the emergencies that will doubtless one day occur.

He likes having a flight fund, likes needing so little and getting by invisible to society and, more importantly, society’s damnable bureaucracy. The paper mills of government, like God’s, grind slow, but they also grind exceeding fine, as the saying has it. Erik has been crushed by them before, in another country, in another life. It hurt him very badly, but it taught him a valuable lesson. He’s not stupid enough to risk being dragged into things again, even for a pretty face with bright blue eyes.  
Also, Erik has the internet. Thanks to the “Get Online! Free computer classes!” project at one of his many libraries he can drive a computer, rather better than he can a car. He has hours of fun, trolling historical communities, altering Wikipedia for great accuracy and/or amusement, and so on. Erik is seriously thinking about getting a home computer of some sort, if he can find one that manages the holy trinity of cheap, reliable and easily transportable.

The library computers are free, but using them makes Erik more visible. Erik’s not interested in visibility, not after… well, he’s _just not._ That’s why he has seventeen library memberships in the first place, so he can go to a library every day and still be familiar enough to be invisible and strange enough to not be predictable. That’s all Erik wants. He wants to be left alone, by society, by the authorities, by do gooders- by everybody. The city has enough people in it for him to do that, and that’s all Erik wants from the world.  
“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here? The library’s pretty crowded.” _Damnit._  
Erik shifts his bag without looking up, intent on his current book. His nostrils flare as he catches the scent of coffee. Good coffee, too, not hot black tar water.  
“If you’ve brought a liquid in a non hermetically sealed container into this library, Ms Grey will kill you in such a way they’ll never find the body.” Erik observes to himself, as the other gets himself settled in. 

“I spilt it on my shoes before I came, its fine.” His new neighbour laughs. Erik looks up. It’s Charles. Of course, it would be him, Erik grumbles to himself, silently. Because, really, why wouldn’t it be? Charles gives him a troubled, sideways look. Erik notes the man has a cycling helmet dangling from one hand.  
“I-I’m sorry, have we met? You seem familiar.” Charles scrubs a hand through his hair, in a nervous way that definitely does not endear him to Erik in any way. Erik gives Charles a flat, steady look. Charles blushes, and it makes his eyes seem even bluer.  
“Sorry. Not a pick up line. Just-“ He’s babbling, and anxious.  
“Yes. We’ve met.” Erik says, curtly. Charles’ shoulders relax as he pulls out yet another notebook from his bag.  
“I’m sorry, it’s just I’ve been interviewing so many people for the Project”- Erik can hear the capital P- “Where did we meet?” Erik relents, just a tiny bit. Clearly Charles remembers far less about his interview with the not-vampire that Erik did. Probably the spiked drink’s fault.

He names the street and the bar, and Charles goes _white_. Erik is surprised to feel a small pang of concern as he watches the tiny patch of skin om Charles’ lovely throat begin to flutter faster as Charles’ pulse picks up the pace.  
“Are you feeling ill?” Erik says, to cover his inner disturbance.  
“I-I, sorry, I had a bad experience there-“ Charles’ eyes widen. “You.. you were there.”  
“Starting to remember, now?” Erik says, dryly. Charles flinches.  
“What happened?” Charles demands, in a tone of low voiced ferocity.

“You drank something William gave you, I went for a smoke and saw the result.” Erik says, laconically.  
“Who?” All the air goes out of Charles in a rush. He sags back against the chair and breathes.  
“William. The not-vampire.” Erik says, and he can’t help sneering. “With the floaty shirt and the deep eyes and-“  
“Not-Vampire?” Charles says, curiously. “I don’t think-“  
“ _He_ wasn’t a vampire.” Erik says, very definitely. Charles’ eyebrows go up.  
“You seem very certain of that.” He observes, neutrally. _Crap,_ Erik thinks quickly.  
“There are no such things as vampires.” Erik states. “Hollywood and Victorian literature have it completely wrong.” 

Charles’ eyebrows stay up.  
“I’m not sure the second statement follows the first.” He says, carefully.  
Erik raises an eyebrow of his own, and, mercifully, Charles leaves the subject of vampiric nature for a more personal line of enquiry.  
“Can you tell me what happened?” he says, hopefully. Hope is not something Erik likes.  
“Do you really not remember?” Erik parries, quickly.  
“No. Just… flashes, and odd moments that remind me.” He swallows, looking faintly ill.

Charles fiddles with his pen, staring down at the scarred library table between them. Erik finds himself, bizarrely, enough, wanting to comfort him.  
“Nothing happened- nothing serious. I went for a smoke, He’d dragged you there, and you weren’t happy about it… I sent him away. You were out of it, so I got you back to yours.”  
“And left me that charming letter.” Charles says to the desk. Erik hopes no one mentions the undressing. It had seemed like a good idea at the _time_. Until he got the younger man’s shirt off, and saw the scars. Erik doesn’t want to talk about the scars. Not Charles’s scars or anybody else’s’.  
“Yes.” Erik says, cautiously. “I thought it would help.”  
“How did you get me back? I’m told I can be quite heavy.” Charles muses. Erik grins, quickly. Charles hadn’t weighed anything at all. And the memory of him, warm and limp in Erik’s arms, was quite pleasant, still. 

“You’re more of a bantam weight than a heavyweight, Charles.” He says, and Charles’ face falls into a rueful grin. “Plus, I called a cab.” He shrugs. “Got the address from your wallet. Simple.”  
“A cab? From there?” Charles says. “Must have been quite expensive, you should have taken the money from my wallet.”  
“How did you know I didn’t?” He smiles at Charles, then, pointedly.  
“I counted it.” Erik smiles again. His teeth begin to make an appearance, this time. “William had enough. I fined him.”  
“ _Fined_ him?” Charles’ voice goes up a tone or two. One of the librarians looks over at them, and frowns. Erik lowers his voice, obediently. Charles leans over the desk towards him, in an attempt to hear Erik better.  
“Yes.” Erik says, and leaves it at that.

“And he, he _let_ you?” Charles twitches slightly, and Erik realises, that for Charles, the pathetic not-vampire has become a terrifying figure.  
“He hadn’t spiked _my_ drink.” Erik says. “So he was pretty easy to deal with. You, now, you put up more of a fight.” Charles ducks his head, but not before Erik sees he looks quite pleased.  
“I did?” He says, shyly. “I’m sorry.” Erik snorts.  
“Don’t be. You went for me with a length of piping, and if I’d been trying to take advantage, I’d have deserved it. You didn’t manage to hit me.”  
“Oh. Well, thank you.” Erik shrugs, uncomfortable.  
“What were you doing, anyway, with your questions and your notebooks?” He says, abruptly. Charles looks absurdly pleased to have been asked.  
“Research Project.” He says, less than helpfully. “On small, sub and counter cultures.” 

“Like street people?”  
“And people who think they’re vampires, or want to be vampires, yes.”  
“You do this by yourself? Definitely, you need a bodyguard.” Erik grumbles. Charles smiles.  
“Hank was supposed to come with me; but he decided on a change of career. No one else was following the same area.” He says, brightly. “So I decided a little solo research never hurt anyone.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t usually.”  
“Huh. Usually, you shouldn’t be out without a keeper, I think.” Charles smiles more widely.  
“Are you volunteering?” Erik sputters. “I feel the need to go and get a coffee, do you feel I need a knight in shining armour before that dangerous kind of expedition?” 

Erik gapes at him. NO, no he does not want to get a coffee, be forced to socialise and risk another attachment he can’t afford. No. Charles’ face dims a little, from its’ eager brightness. Erik does not feel responsible.  
“It’s occurred to me, I haven’t really said thank you. For anything.” Charles says, almost shyly. Erik waves off the need for gratitude; he doesn’t like people being grateful. It’s itchy. “Come on. Let me buy you a coffee, and we’ll call it quits.” Charles urges again.

Erik is more than a little surprised to find himself agreeing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles observes Erik. Erik... lets him.

Charles is more than a little unnerved, the first time he meets Erik and is able to recall it. Erik is grumpy, antisocial and distinctly unwelcoming, hunched over his library books like a predatory bird. He’s also vaguely familiar, which is why Charles risks sitting down near him. He’s gotten very jumpy since the Night of No Recall. His insomnia is worse, again, and almost anything can set off his nerves. Strangers passing too close to him. The sound of clothing rustling. The feel of cold, round metal, such as handrails. The smell and taste of whiskey; and that is a serious problem. Charles likes his whiskey. His roommate and best friend, Hank is very guilty and supportive for a week, and then, abruptly, not there at all, as his phd research has required him to take up a six month placement on the other side of the city, which enables him to move in with Raven, Charles’s own and only sister, “Just to save on rent.” Charles is not convinced. He is darkly certain that more “rent saving” lies in Raven and Hank’s future, just as soon as his friend can work out a reason for it. If it weren’t for Raven being wildly in love with Hank, and vice versa, plus Hank already having one doctorate, he’d definitely say something.

And then, just as Charles is really thinking of trying to beg or borrow a guard dog or a friend or more sleeping pills, he meets Erik again. Erik is tall, if somewhat hunch shouldered, even sitting down, but it’s his green grey eyes that strike a spark of memory in Charles’ mind. When Erik confirms that yes, he knows Charles, Charles finds out where from, he feels ill, jittery, for a second. The missing time is hard to think about. Then Erik clearly sees this and moves to make Charles feel better; filling in the missing details of what happened, and why Charles woke up alone at home, nearly naked and remembering nothing the next day. Charles takes care not to remind Erik of the _nakedness_ ; one glance at Erik’s tiredly handsome features and wickedly toothy smile tells him Erik couldn’t be interested in a palid, scarred nonentity like himself. Charles forgets to ask about it, anyway, as Erik spins a yarn about Charles going for him with a pipe, in self defence. This behaviour seems unlikely to Charles. Erik clearly seems to approve of this violence apparently lurking in Charles, however, which _is_ very pleasant.

In fact that, and Erik’s careless admission that he _robbed_ Charles’ attacker, after dragging him off Charles, give him the courage to pressure Erik into drinking a coffee with him. Erik agrees quite easily, leading Charles to suspect he has quite a gentle nature hidden under his grumpy outer shell. The nightmarish monster that has tyrannised Charles’ dreams and waking nightmares dwindles, in the course of one conversation, into a pretentious wannabe idiot, easily driven off with a few hard words (and, possibly, Charles thinks, Erik punched him. It would be nice if that were true.) Charles wonders if a few more coffees down the line, this rapidly shrinking threat will dwindle into nothing, in Charles’ dreams.

That doesn’t quite happen, but Charles finds himself easier and calmer after the first coffee. Erik doesn’t seem to be the sort of person who would waste his time or energy on lying; and so now Charles has a memory of what happened when he was attacked, even if it isn’t his own. Charles doesn’t find sleep comes any easier, and he still has to buy every drink himself, and watch it like a hawk, but he stops feeling so jumpy on the street and in public. Although that _may_ have something to do with the Taser Erik insists he carry everywhere. It’s safer than a can of Mace, as it moves from book bag to bike bag to pocket and back. Charles is… fairly sure it’s legal. Erik has no time for details, small print, or foolishness, but he’s mostly law-abiding. This explains why he’s paying the rent he is for the place he’s living in. Charles reads the entire rental contract, makes notes for Erik’s conversation, and shortly thereafter, the landlord makes repairs Erik has been waiting on for weeks; which makes him almost smile, twice. Charles is fairly hopeful that when the heating is fixed and the place is re painted, Erik might invite him over, sometime.

It’s not that Charles is swept away by Erik’s charms- Erik is not interested in being charming, anyway- or perhaps, not solely that. Erik is interesting; a puzzle Charles would love to study more closely. Erik would state that he is an anti social, grumpy bastard, and he’s certainly not lying, laconic and morose as often he is. It’s also clear to Charles that this unfriendly, isolated individual is someone Erik has to work at being. Perhaps Charles is biased, but still. Look at the way he stepped in to rescue Charles, a complete stranger, from Charles’ own foolishness. Look at the way he smiles at children when he thinks no one’s watching. All right, Charles is definitely biased, but he still has a point. Erik is hiding himself, and Charles wants to know (a) what he’s hiding and (b) why. He’s ruled out crime, for the time being. Erik is cheerfully, unashamedly amoral, true. See also: stopped a rapist from attacking someone, and then robbed him. But he has very little apparent interest in wealth, appearance or comfort. He wears his old, casual clothes until they fall apart, cuts his own hair- he doesn’t even own a mobile phone.  
“Who would I call?” he says, when Charles expresses surprise, his face clouding and darkening as if Charles has insulted his intelligence by even asking.

Erik could be a psychopath or serial killer, (many of them are surprisingly good looking, after all), but in that case surely he would have at least taken… advantage of Charles when he was at his most helpless, despite his looks, in that alley, or when he’d got Charles home, unconscious and alone? But no, Erik just tucked him up in bed and left a note. A note recommending Charles fixes his door locks. Which he has, by the way, he’s not nearly as careless with himself as Erik says he is. Erik is over aware of the potential dangers living in a big city. It’s not quite the same thing as being paranoid. Charles also muses, one day, as he goes on yet another ramble with Erik through the backstreets and byways of the city that perhaps Erik has been homeless before now. It would explain a lot of the disconnect Erik clearly feels towards humanity as a whole; society is rarely kind or gentle with those who slip through its’ cracks. Erik loves these walks, and he has a dislike of public transport that means he has steel in the place of legs. Charles’ feet and thighs hate him for a week every time he joins in, but Erik- beyond the occasional, startled glance as Charles sweats and keeps up with him. 

No matter where the rambles go, Charles never feels unsafe. There is something very solid and reassuring about Erik as he stalks along on his chosen path. People don’t trouble him, and after a glance or too at Charles strolling along side, they don’t trouble Charles, either. Charles sees Erik in action, once, when a drugged out mugger heads towards them. Erik radiates a ferocious aura of such deadly threat, the mugger stops over three feet away, and wanders casually away. Charles asks Erik if he can teach Charles to do that, and gets an amused snort and a hair ruffle by way of an answer.

Erik might have mental or criminal issues, immigration problems, or marital ones, Charles just doesn’t know. That’s the point. He’s never met anyone so resolutely closed off from the world. The fact that he seems to be allowing Charles in, just a little, is a miracle Charles doesn’t intend to treat carelessly. Charles asks Erik no searching questions- he even puts away his notebook- and takes any comment Erik gives him at face value. Well, apart from the ones Erik _obviously_ doesn’t intend to be believed, of course. They hang out together, in the evenings, mostly, in coffee shops and libraries, galleries and museums (but not bars, never bars. Charles still couldn’t walk into one if the street behind him was on fire) Erik sits with Charles; Charles walks with Erik and its good. Easy even, once Charles gets his hands on a decent pair of walking shoes. Charles never goes to Erik’s place, and Erik never accepts invitations to go to Charles’s apartment. Still, cautious, Charles could call Erik his friend, and he’s reasonably sure Erik would neither maim him nor run away. This amounts to the same thing, really. In Erik-speak, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik is: firstly in denial; secondly in a car accident and mostly (completely) _in trouble._

Erik appears to have acquired a… Charles. He doesn’t know how to describe the situation any other way. Erik does not have friends, obviously, and he doesn’t bother with acquaintances or hangers on. Unlike William and his pathetic ilk. Yet it seems as if every time he turns around these days, there is Charles, beaming in welcome. It’s unnerving, or would be, if Erik actually had nerves, which he does _not._ Erik certainly doesn’t go out of his way to wander in places Charles will find interesting, and he doesn’t look to see when Charles is getting tired, and direct their steps to a coffee shop. Sometimes Charles and he just happen to have plans that coincide, that’s all. Erik has to admit to himself that having a… Charles is quite… pleasant at times. Charles is rarely annoying deliberately or otherwise, which makes him unique in Erik’s long experience of humanity. The man is not stupid, only alarmingly unconcerned with his personal safety.

That’s something Erik can take care of without even thinking about it, if Charles is with him. 

There’s something refreshing about knowing he’ll meet up with someone and be able to discuss important things; social decay, solitude. Socks. No, really. People don’t respect socks enough these days. They used to be as vital as good shoes, if not more so. Good socks are one of the world’s best treasures. Particularly for someone who does as much walking as Erik does. He doesn’t own a car anymore; and he daren’t use the bus or subway. They’re too full of people who are not Charles, too unpredictable and unsafe. 

And the trains remind Erik of some of his worst memories. 

Not that he’ll be telling Charles that. One of the restful things about Charles, however is that not only does he not ask stupid questions; he doesn’t ask painful ones, either. He’s capable of letting things- and Erik- be. Charles can ramble for hours without asking a single question, although possibly that’s because he gets caught up in his own flights of fancy and forgets he has an audience at all.

And the way Charles sees the world…

Erik is old, and so are his eyes. He’s long since got tired of looking for new things and being disappointed. But with Charles, things are different. The things he sees are not different, but the way Charles _looks_ at then- that is very different. And when Erik is spending time with Charles, he gets to share. That vision, the things it sees. Charles’s eyes are like the rest of him, extraordinary. But he is not Erik’s friend. Erik doesn’t have friends. Too much work, too much effort. 

Too much pain when they move on.

Erik is used to pain- live long enough and you will be, too- but he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t go seeking it. He’s no masochist. So why does he tolerate Charles so? Erik is aware that with anyone else, he’d have drawn back long before. Moved away, insulted the man, anything rather than meeting up with him over and over again. Erik doesn’t even _like_ coffee all that much. Erik grumbles at himself, and frets, until he decides: he will have (suffer) a Charles free week. Perhaps after that, this… _thing_ with Charles will recede to manageable proportions.

Of course, the first thing that happens after that is he is hit by a car. 

By several cars, actually. It’s completely _no_ t his fault. He’s crossing, with the light, at a traffic crossing -all sensible things he tended not to do before he went walking with Charles, and had to set him a good example in taking care with his life- when a couple of cars tear around the corner. One hits him. Erik is surprised, and disgruntled. So are quite a few of his bones. He’s starting to try and sit up when the race of the illegal drag race arrives.

Erik is bounced around like a cannon ball on a battlefield. 

It _hurts_. There are at least three cars that swerve to avoid him, but the others have drivers who either don’t see him, or don’t care. Probably they assume he’s not much threat to their cars, whereas swerving at the speeds they’re going would be. They flash by (and over) Erik almost too fast for him to notice. He registers the drivers as best he can, not that it’s likely to be useful. His bones shatter. His face is dragged along the road surface and one arm is almost ground into the gravel, and then the cars are gone. 

Erik can feel himself creeping closer to blackout, and fights to stay awake, to keep on top of his… survival instinct. He rolls, painfully, into the gutter, where some might say he belongs, and lies there, breathing. It’s all he can do for a while. Then, on the edge of his hearing, he can detect the wailing sound of sirens. Police, ambulance- it doesn’t matter. They’re Society’s enforcers, they’ve got authority; and they’ll come bringing questions and doctors and the scientific method. Erik’s been through that before, and _never again_.

Erik runs.

Well, more sort of staggers to his feet on disobedient bones, and lurches off. It’s a shame it’s not Halloween, he thinks, disjointedly; he’d win a prize. He shambles along as fast as he can, in no particular direction other than _away_. Away from the lights, the noise, the people. He doesn’t know where he’s going, and he can’t think. Erik knows what he needs- somewhere dark, isolated, where he can put himself back together in peace, without the risk of some luckless soul discovering him when he’s running solely on instinct. Erik without his self control is not a pretty sight.

Nor is he a safe sight, in that state, either.

It’s very late, now. If Erik was more himself, he’d see the lightening sky and know he had to get undercover fast, before the morning sun appears and adds to his woes. As it is, he’s merely more frantic to find somewhere safe, cool and hidden. Healing will be a long time coming. It would be quicker if he could eat, but with this much damage, paradoxically, Erik daren’t try to feed himself. There is too much risk, even assuming he could pass for normal long enough to get what he needs. His self control is too weak. Erik might well end up killing someone who doesn’t deserve it.

That, like falling into the hands of medical or law enforcement entities, is something Erik has decided will never happen again.

Erik staggers again, as his foot slips on the iron rung. Wait. Iron rung? Where is he headed? Up, evidently, but where? And why? Erik’s hidden a time or two on roofs, under handy tarpaulins or old carpet, but it’s not an ideal hiding place. Healing from something like this without feeding will take months, if not years. Also he usually uses the inside stairs, or a lift, not the fire escape. The air wheezes in Erik’s lungs. Idly, Erik thinks to himself, he sounds like a broken pair of bellows. Fragments of his bones scrape against each other. 

It’s exquisitely painful.

Erik bites back a scream at the last minute, turning it into a groaning gasp, instead. His arm- not the squashed one, but the other one, clatters along the railing. Too much noise. He tries to climb more quietly, but his resources are running out. There are ominous tendrils of black in his vision, and his hearing keeps cutting out. Erik sags against the window, unable to stand, now. Muzzily, he prays the occupants of the apartment are either out or too frightened to check out the noises from their fire escape.

The window opens, unexpectedly, and Erik falls, falls, falls.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles can’t sleep. Erik can’t stay awake. And that thing you thought was coming? It’s here.

Charles was planning on a quiet night in- just him, his research notes and Netflix. He’d had one, too, until the insomnia and anxiety had kicked in again. Sometimes he has bad nights like this, nights where he can’t sleep, and every little sound jerks Charles out of his uneasy doze. There were a lot more of them immediately after the William incident. Recently however, they’ve diminished again. Charles finds Erik- and the taser, courtesy of Erik- immensely reassuring, on some level. Perhaps it’s having the taser, a weapon, and still knowing that the reason it isn’t a gun is because Erik refused to trust him with so deadly a weapon.

“Honestly, Charles, I don't know what you’ll do if you ever kill someone.” Erik had laughed, when he’d gaped at the taser, fearful of its chunky deadliness. “You’ll collapse in foolish shame and regret.”  
“Shame over killing is foolish?” Charles had asked, mildly enough. Erik had smirked, hearing the ire in his tone and said, attempting to be comforting:  
“It is when I know you’d only kill someone if there was no other way of stopping them. Your heart is too soft, Charles.”

Now the taser makes a reassuring shape on his bedside table, and a comfortable lump in his bike bag or pocket. There’ve been a few times Charles has been pretty glad he has it; not so much because Charles needed to threaten someone else with it, so much as knowing he could if he needed to, defend himself. It’s like having a little piece of Erik with him, when Erik is not there. Not that Charles would compare Erik to a weapon. The taser is far more outgoing and friendly than Charles’ taciturn and prickly friend.

Accepting that he’s probably not going to sleep anymore, Charles pushes back the covers with a sigh, and gets up. It’s still dark, but there’s a faint greyness which shows that dawn cannot be far away. Charles swings his legs out of bed and flicks on a lamp. He reaches for his jeans, draped over the chair. He picks them up, and then pulls back his hand as something sharp jabs into his fingers. Charles swears, abruptly. These aren’t the jeans he meant to pick up, which are crumpled on the floor next to the bed. These are the ones Charles pinned the hem on, because he wanted to get them adjusted. Mumbling curses, Charles sucks the blood off his finger tips and inspects the damage. It’s not so bad, not really. A few little holes, quite deep, but scarcely anything to worry about. Outside, something clangs off the fire escape, and Charles tilts his head to listen. No further noise comes, so Charles thinks, it’s probably just the wind, or a stray cat. He pulls a sweater over his T-shirt and shuffles into the kitchen. He puts the kettle on, and gets out a mug and one of his precious imported tea bags.

Charles slumps, and stares at the kettle, vacantly, waiting for it to boil. It’s not true, he thinks, what his nanny used to say about a watched pot never boiling. Then again, he’s been awake at the right-or wrong, depending on how you view it- time often enough to agree that usually is pretty dark just before dawn. The kettle reaches boiling point, eventually, and Charles is reaching for the milk when he hears noises again. Charles can hear rattling and moans coming from… the fire escape? Odd. His disturbing neighbours, who have had sex, or at least something that sounds a lot _like_ sex, everywhere in their apartment and its environs, and every when, too, are not usually given to outside sex, and- The sounds came again, a sliding noise against the window, followed by a groan and a muffled thump. Maybe there were a couple of stray cats on the fire escape. Charles came to a decision. He was sick and tired of his inconsiderate neighbours, and of pets, and of not being able to sleep. 

Charles went for his taser. 

If the noise was nothing, it didn’t matter. If it was animals… he didn’t think it would be needed, but it would make him feel better to be holding it, and if it was his irritating neighbours, well they deserved a good scare, anyway. Charles shook his head at himself. He could recognise the influence of Erik, in his last thought. Cautiously, Charles crept into the bathroom, where the window that led onto the fire escape was located. He squinted through the frosted glass. He couldn’t see anything beyond a large, dark mass apparently leaning on the window.  
“Hello? I warn you, I’ve got, I’ve got a taser!” Charles said, quietly.   
Nothing responded. The dark mass didn’t move.  
“Hello? Any one there? Why-?”  
Whatever was outside groaned, feebly. It did not sound like the wind, or cats or sex. It sounded like _pain_. Charles hurried towards the window, and tugged at the bolts holding it closed. They were rusty, and he had to struggle to get them open. 

 

Charles slides the window open, quickly, and jumped back, holding his taser tightly, just in case. A dark, bloodstained mass tumbles limply in through the window, and slides into the bath. Charles bit back a shriek, and scrambled to turn on the light. The mass didn’t react. Charles bent forwards, cautiously, and the dark jumbled mass reassembled itself in his blurry sight into a slumped human form. Well. Charles can’t claim to have been expecting _that._ The dark mass of cloth looks a little like Erik’s trenchcoat, and Charles takes a second to wish his friend were here. Erik would know what to do with an unconscious stranger. Charles takes a further moment to wish that Erik had a cell phone, because then he could call him and ask him what to next. Then Charles recognises his maunderings for what they are, an attempt to avoid the current situation, and shakes his head. 

Slowly, Charles moves towards the lurker in the bath. It has collapsed in such a way that it’s face is not immediately visible. All Charles can see is a pair of filthy and battered jeans covering a pair of very long and probably male legs. One kicks a little, and the bathtub groans. Charles’ eyes narrow. That sounded more than a little familiar.   
“Erik if you’re playing a trick on me-“ His voice sounds thin, uncertain. Charles stops speaking, then, because it’s obvious by the angle of the out flung hand that this is no trick. Whoever is in the bath is terribly hurt.

Charles creeps up to the bath, moving faster. He flips back a corner of the stuff covering the face, that might have started out as a coat, before something terrible happened to it, and stops dead, dropping the taser in shock. The coat doesn’t just like Erik’s, it _is_ Erik’s. The groan sounded familiar, because it was Erik’s too. Erik is lying in Charles’ bathtub, after a terrible beating. One of his arms is definitely broken, and Erik’s face his battered and cut. Erik’s face is pale and sheeted with sweat, and his wonderful eyes are shut.

“Erik?” Charles says, aloud. “How did you get here?” Erik’s left eye flickers open. His face is sobruised, Charles can’t see the other. He looks like he's been beaten with sledgehammers, or maybe a car.  
“Charles.” Erik says, blankly, to the ceiling. His voice is a hoarse rasp, a parody of its usual deep tones. Charles drops to his knees beside the tub.  
“Erik, Erik, _what happened?”_ Charles babbles. “I’ll call an ambulance... You need the hospital!”   
He reaches out, afraid to cause more pain, but needing to know the extent of Erik’s injuries. Erik seizes Charles’ hand in an icy grip so tight that Charles cries out in pain. The grip does not loosen.

“ _No… Hospital._ ” Erik grunts. “Not. _Experiment._ ” He gives the trapped hand a little warning shake.  
“No, of course not, Erik, but, but, you’re hurt. You need help.” Charles says.   
“Need. Sleep. Darkness.” Erik says, as his grasp slackens, and his eye shuts again. Worriedly, Charles pats at Erik’s face, trying to bring him round again. The squeezing hasn’t been good for his injured hand, and Charles notes, in passing, that his pinpricks are bleeding again. Erik does not stir. Charles grabs his own hair in both hands. He doesn’t know what to do. Erik is pale, and cold. If it weren’t for his livid scrapes and bruises, and the fact that his chest is moving up and down, slightly, Charles would think he had a corpse in his bathtub, a terribly battered corpse.

Charles reaches out to Erik again, and Erik’s nostrils flare. His mouth opens, and his forehead twitches. Charles sits up, taking his hand away, and Erik mouth closes, and his nostrils narrow again. Charles frowns. That’s odd. He puts his hand out again, and this time both of Erik’s eyes open, even the swollen one. Erik’s irises are almost completely black, apart from the tiniest sliver of grey green round the edges. It’s a little eerie. Charles shivers.  
“Erik?” Charles says, carefully. He’s not sure what’s going on, or what to expect. Charles certainly didn’t expect Erik to try and _lick_ Charles’s hand. Charles freezes in surprise, and Erik twists his neck in an oddly boneless fashion, to get all of Charles’ wounded fingers into his mouth, and then he starts… _sucking._

It is not in any way sensual, Charles tells himself, with surprising ease. Erik’s eyes are shut, and he’s barely breathing. Erik is also sucking at Charles’ fingers as if they were water, and he was dying of thirst. A tingling jab of heat races up Charles’ arm, and he swallows. Charles whips his hand back out of Erik’s reach, and stares. Erik grumbles a protest, wordlessly. As Charles watches, a little of the damage on Erik’s face simply… fades, and vanishes. Like magic. Charles gapes.  
“Erik? I don’t understand what’s going on.” Charles says, unsteadily. “Erik?” Erik doesn’t respond. But Charles does understand. Erik is hurt, badly. He tasted Charles’ blood. And now he is… less hurt.

Well. Charles is a researcher. He’s not about to deny the evidence of his own eyes.  
“Time to gather more data.” Charles mutters to himself. The whole situation is so bizarre and strange; Charles wishes he could persuade himself he’s dreaming. He can’t though, so after a slight pause, Charles stands, and reaches for the packet of replaceable razor blades he keeps in the medicine cabinet. He swallows, nervously, as he washes his hands, and breaks the blade out of its little sterilised wrapping. Charles uses his left hand, because he is right handed, and makes two deepish cuts in his index and middle finger. The blood wells up quickly, dark and gleaming. It’s surprisingly painful.

Hastily, Charles pushes his hand towards Erik’s mouth, which snaps open. Carefully, Charles places his fingers in his friend’s mouth, and tries not to think about (a) sex or (b) the Little Shop of Horrors. At first, Erik doesn’t react.  
“Erik?” Charles says, and wriggles his fingers. “Are you, is this, is it all right?” Erik doesn’t open his eyes, this time, and it hurts, when he begins to drink. Charles distracts himself by watching as Erik’s face begins to look less damaged and more like a face again. Erik’ eyes fly open, and they are completely black. Charles shivers again. Erik doesn’t look like his familiar friend, right now. But he needs help.

“Charles.” Erik says, indistinctly around the fingers in his mouth. “Charles. _What are you doing?_ ”  
“Is it helping?” Charles moves his hand, so Erik can speak, and Erik catches at it, before visibly making himself stop.  
“Yes. But…” Erik mutters. “Charles. Dangerous.” Erik begins struggling to stand; so Charles helps him up.  
“I expect I am. What happened?” Charles says, as he and Erik stagger out of the bathroom. Erik doesn’t answer him, simply moves uncertainly forwards. Erik appears to be heading for the bedroom. Charles doesn’t stop him. They sway along until Charles finally drops Erik on the bed. 

He falls, gracelessly, and lies still, dirty, bloodstained clothes and all. Charles stares at him. Erik appears to have stopped breathing.   
“Erik?” Charles says, worriedly. Erik’s eyes open, slowly. “Erik, look it’s alright. I- you can.” Erik’s jaw drops. For two minutes there is absolute silence in the room. Charles has to make himself offer his hand again. “If, you… if it helps. Take it.” He swallows, against a suddenly dry mouth. Slowly, very slowly, Erik takes Charles’ hand between his own. Raises it to his mouth. Licks the last of the blood from the razor cuts on Charles’ fingers. Erik mouths along Charles’ palm, gently, until he reaches the wrist, and then he _bites._ Charles’ knees buckle, and he drops onto the bed.

Onto Erik, who shifts a little to accommodate him. Charles' eyes flutter shut, briefly. Erik puts his arm around Charles, bracing his head against less battered his shoulder. It feels wonderfully protective. Gentle, calming warmth is flowing up Charles’ arm, and into his head, as Erik feeds. Charles cracks open one eye long enough to check on Erik, and is rewarded with the sight of fading bruises and healing cuts, everywhere. There’s a faint, popping noise, and Erik twitches. Erik’s nose has straightened itself. _Oh,_ thinks Charles in sleepy wonder, _how clever._

Placidly, Charles drifts into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik recovers enough from his injuries to get his broody angstiness on.

Bemused, Erik stares down at the sleeping researcher tucked snugly in his arms. He always knew Charles was unusual; naïve and accepting of his fellow beings to the point of self destruction, but this is rather more than that personality flaw. This is a failure to protect oneself at almost _Darwinian levels_. If Erik had been a little less in control of himself and had drained Charles dry, human evolution would probably have thanked him for tidying up the gene pool. Assuming altruism has a genetic component, which it probably doesn’t. The Herr Doktor had gone to great lengths to try and explain modern science to his lab specimen, but Erik had rarely been in a state where he could follow anything the man said.

A few of Erik’s teeth try to grind themselves at this point, out of sheer habit; he winces as many of them are only partway through re-growing, and are a little more sensitive as a result. Erik hopes Charles doesn’t mind too much that Erik effectively _drugged_ him into unconsciousness as a reward for saving his life. Erik smiles, bitterly, baring fangs at himself. Who is he fooling? As soon as Charles awakes, there will have been enough time for him to realise the full implications of what Erik is. There will be horror, and revulsion, and rejection. There always _is_. Erik bites at his lower lip, bracing himself. 

One of the reasons he keeps to himself is to prevent _this_ kind of thing happening. Erik knows he is no more monstrous than most humans, but it is hard to remember that in the face of terror and disgust from friends or family. Erik stares at the ceiling and carefully does not think of Magda, and her face when tragedy revealed Erik’s nature to her. He’s no fool; she could not have _loved_ him. Not before she knew him for what he was, and she certainly didn’t afterwards. But she was a woman alone, pregnant and with small children, and Erik was the only man willing to take them all on and provide for them, in a time when Magda would have had few choices.

Making the best of a bad choice is hardly love. And, Erik has to admit, they provided convincing cover for him, too. He can’t sire children, of course, and a lone wanderer is always a favourite suspect, but few people immediately think of the devoted family man as the prime suspect. But Charles has only needed him once, and that was long ago. Erik cannot hope for guilt or gratitude to restrain his response. He can only hope Charles does not go directly to medical or legal authorities with this. Erik represses a shudder that would jar his still setting bones and disturb Charles. He is never going to make _that_ mistake again. True, there had been a war on, and Erik’s opportunities had been very limited, but still.

Erik will not risk coming under the eye of the Herr Doktor- or his modern equivalents- _ever_ again. The worst part of that Hell had been knowing he was never going to be able to die. Erik has always been careful to conceal his true physical nature, since. Erik shifts, slightly, as the bones in his feet start re-aligning, but stops quickly when Charles mumbles in his sleep. He’s always been open and upfront about his personality, however; only Charles has ever refused to accept Erik for what he is: an aggressive, grumpy, unpleasant, and, above all, deeply solitary man. Erik didn’t even know Charles had known or believed in vampires, of whatever type, before this

Yet no one, _no one_ goes from “You’re a _what?_ They’re actually _real?”_ to “Oh hey, yeah, please try my blood” within sixty seconds. They just don’t. Actually most people never move into the “Try my blood” stage seriously. Which is a pity as freely given blood is much more powerful than stolen or anonymously donated blood. As soon as people work out that Erik is serious about his… dietary supplement, there’s usually screaming, running, stabbing and other such normal reactions. At the very least, people offer him the name of a good psychiatrist or seven. Charles _opened a vein_ for him. 

Gently, Erik examines Charles’ hand again. The bite on Charles’ wrist is gone, completely. Not even a scar is left; Erik’s saliva doing its job well. The razor slices on the fingers will not heal as instantly, as the wound wasn’t inflicted by Erik’s teeth. But they look clean, and are scabbing nicely. Charles sighs, in his sleep, and smiles. Erik catches himself wondering what Charles is dreaming of. Vampire saliva (one can’t quite call it venom) has a number of useful effects, depending on location and manner of administration. Erik is pleased Charles seems to be defeating his insomnia with the little Erik passed on through the bite. 

Charles doesn’t usually sleep this well, as far as Erik knows, and, anyway, after the excitements and alarms of the evening, it can only be the venom keeping him relaxed and warm in Erik’s arms. No sane, rational person would happily just doze off clasped in a predator’s arms. Not even Charles. Probably. It’s probably the saliva that kept him calm enough to offer Erik blood; without it, Charles will be as frantic and terrified as anyone else. Glumly, Erik anticipates the ending of this calm. In the mean time Charles looks lovely, flushed and rosy with sleep. It’s a good look on him. 

The last time Erik saw Charles unconscious, he was grey and pale and bruised. Erik had dropped the man into his own bed, written him a note, and was on the way out when that face had caught at him, and he’d stopped to stare. Quietly and viciously, Erik curses his feet and their homing instinct that led him back here when he was at his most vulnerable. He didn’t need to come here. Time with the Herr Doktor, among other experiences, has taught Erik that he’ll likely survive and self heal even without blood, as long as he is left along in the dark long enough.

And in any case, if he was going to lose his time with Charles to a decade or so of sleep; it’s preferable to losing him due to his discovery of Erik’s nature. Charles might have wondered what happed to him, had Erik disappeared so, but he’d have forgotten, in time, and Erik would never have to see his face twisted in fear or disgust. As he will now. He should just get up and leave, while it’s still dark, and leave Charles to wonder. It might be wiser than staying. It will certainly be safer all round, and hurt less. Charles will hopefully chalk it up to dreams, and move on to his next pet project.

Erik decides to do just that, to leave, as soon as he feels close to being recovered. In the mean time, he decides to enjoy something Erik knows he has never had before, and will never have again; a trusting Charles lying warm and peaceful in his arms. A burst of rain rattles against the windows, and Charles wriggles closer to Erik, his legs twining around Erik’s like an affectionate vine. Erik sighs. He’ll wait for Charles to get comfortable, to settle down and stop moving, and then he’ll go. Tear himself out of Charles’ arms and bed and apartment and life. It’s for the best.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik sleeps. Charles wakes up. And there is tea.

Charles drifts into awareness gently, nudging up to the shores of consciousness like a small, peaceful dinghy. It’s rather pleasant. If he had dreams, or nightmares, Charles cannot recall them, which is another surprise. He still feels relaxed, and calm, but the dreamy, floating warmth of the night before has gone, replaced by the reassurance of strong arms around him, and the weight of heavy blankets across his face. Charles moves one hand to uncover his vision, and the owner of the arms grumbles wordlessly and shifts away. _Erik_. Charles thinks, with a slow dawning sense of wonder. Erik is holding him. Erik is a, a… Charles doesn’t know the polite word. Vampire? Blood drinker? He resolves to ask Erik when he’s awake what his preferred terms are. It’s only polite. Charles swivels his head slightly, and notes that Erik is still, to all intents and purposes, asleep. He’s warm, though, and quite comfortable, if a little bony this close to. Charles feels the note taking part of his brain awaken. 

Erik is breathing, so presumably that’s something he needs to do. Charles is very intrigued to notice Erik’s pulse is extremely different to any other Charles has experienced. Instead of a steady heartbeat- well, Charles thinks so, he can’t quite take the heartbeat of a sleeping man without permission, if there’s no emergency- Erik thrums. Every so often, a barely detectable vibration shivers through him, like a string on a musical instrument, when another is plucked. It’s very curious. Abruptly, Charles finds his attention claimed by another body; namely his own. Charles is _extremely thirsty,_ and he needs to pee. He’s also hungry. Charles has seen Erik eat in the past- so perhaps he requires more nourishment than blood? Charles begins to extricate himself from the bed and from Erik’s arms very carefully. Erik looks tired and wan. Also, given how badly he was hurt last night, he probably needs to take it easy for a while. Rest and darkness, that’s what he’d said he needed. Well, he’ll get them. Charles checks that the curtains are still completely closed against the early afternoon sunlight and pads off to the bathroom. Erik shifts, closing in his arms on open air. A sleepy noise, not quite a grumble escapes from his throat but he does not wake.

The bathroom is quiet, pale and clean, It’s showing very little evidence of the high drama and discoveries that took place in it the night before. Apart from Erik’s coat remnants, shed by the side of the bath, and the smudgy marks on the porcelain interior, it looks as if no one has used the fire escape window in years. Charles stares at his face in the mirror, and regrets the fact that neither he nor Erik took more of their clothes off last night. He has red wrinkle marks all over his face and arms from sleeping crushed in the arms of a fully clad vampire in his clothes. He wrinkles his nose at himself and starts to clean his teeth. Charles takes extra long in the shower, partly to make up for the fact that he’s wearing clothes hauled out of the laundry basket after he dries off. He doesn’t want to risk waking Erik by stumbling around the bedroom in the search of clean pants. Idly, Charles wonders if Erik has an increased sense of smell to go with the healing thing. Or maybe that’s werewolves. Are there werewolves? Yesterday, Charles would have been certain there were not; but today he is not so sure. Maybe he’ll ask Erik, see if he knows. Charles smiles to himself, picturing Erik as a (willing) research subject. Assuming there are more supernatural beings actually existing, that research paper would be so cool. Talk about your small groups and sub societies!

Charles steps out of the shower and sighs. He doubts that the man would willingly give anyone, even Charles, the time of day, let alone scads of information of people who probably also want to remain hidden away from society, given Erik’s anti-social manner. Also, Erik’s previous habits of avoiding the attention of the authorities, added the fact that his reaction to the idea of hospital treatment was to state that he wasn’t an experiment, make Charles retroactively uneasy on his friends’ behalf. Well. The life of a medical anomaly is rarely fun, Charles thinks, even now. And maybe the thing about vampires living a long time is also true.

Clean and dressed in the least awful of his old jeans and t shirts, Charles tiptoes into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and stares at it, briefly. What would Erik like for breakfast?  
Blood, his brain informs him, speculatively. Charles shivers and shuts the fridge door, quickly. He doesn’t think he could… donate again, not so soon after last night, even though Erik probably took less than Charles would give at a blood drive. Not that it was painful, just, just, deeply other. Charles was honestly surprised he had managed to sleep without dreaming, afterwards. Although it hadn’t exactly been the sensual and erotic experience of a lifetime that certain authors (that Charles would never admit to reading, ever) had speculated it was. Ah well. Erik would have to make do with cereal, eggs and maybe toast, if Charles could find some bread that had not gone green. When he woke, anyway. This would be soon, Charles hoped, faintly uneasy. In the meantime, Charles decided, he’d eat some cereal himself, and stare at yesterdays’ paper. Oh, and tea. Yes, he’d make a nice cup of tea, too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is in denial. Erik thinks it’s Charles.

Erik wakes slowly. He feels far more refreshed and rejuvenated than one day’s sleep should allow. Cautiously, he opens one eye, and is rewarded with a very close up view of a sheet. He tugs and wriggles until he can see into the room. Erik can see daylight, but it is dimmed, suggesting someone has thoughtfully pulled the curtains over the dangerous windows. The taste of unpleasant dreams lingers in the back of his mind as he yawns and blinks. Erik begins to stretch, but stops as he becomes aware of the number of blankets tucked around him. He’s practically swaddled in a giant cocoon of wool and cotton, with some carefully tugged up over his head. Erik lies back and tries to remember what the hell _happened_ last night. 

Then he remembers.

This is Charles’ apartment. The cars, the accident- his stupid feet took him here, here, where _Charles_ lives- why? And Charles let Erik _feed_ from him. Erik sits bolt upright, then, heedless of sudden skin burns if the curtains aren’t fully drawn. Charles _offered Erik his blood._ Erik curses himself. He meant to leave before Charles awoke, but clearly he was more injured than he realised. And now Charles has gone. Erik sighs. Doubtless Charles has fled out of a recently discovered sense of self preservation. As well he should, really. Erik quirks a wry smile at the empty room. He knows he is dangerous. However, he has never caused someone to flee their own home and leave him in it before. Even Magda fled him with her children only after the town turned against them. Still, Erik hopes, if he leaves a note- another note- for Charles, promising him he’ll be left alone, the young man will feel safe enough to return here. He runs his tongue over his teeth. Who’d believe any words that came out of a mouth with teeth like _this_?

“Erik!” a cheery, familiar voice calls. “You’re awake!” Erik blinks, and does not jump.  
“Charles?” he says, slowly, cautiously. Charles is leaning in the doorway, _beaming_ at him.  
“Are you- how are you feeling?” Charles says, anxiously. “I didn’t want to wake you- was that OK?” Erik blinks, slowly once. Charles appears to be worrying about _him_. Erik thinks, silently, for a couple of minutes, until something clicks. _Ah_. Clearly, Charles has decided to ignore- or is unable to face- the horrors he went through last night. Well, it’s not the first time Erik has had to deal with protective denial of his nature; he’s not going to judge Charles if he cannot deal with this. _Erik_ can hardly deal with what he is, sometimes.  
“I- fine.” He rasps through an unexpectedly sore throat. Erik winces; he’s still thirsty. But not for blood, no. Charles’ blood, freely offered last night will be all Erik needs for a week or so.

Charles’ face creases in concern. Even his hair appears worried.  
“You don’t sound very fine, Erik.” He offers, tentatively. Erik growls a little, dismiising Charles’ concerns, and starts to get up, before he freezes. He can feel he’s still wearing his clothes, less his coat, and if Charles sees the ruins they’re in, well. Either he’ll have to skate over the awkwardness, somehow, or if he really is in denial, this will hurt him worse. Charles tilts his head.  
“Do you want a shower?”  
“I… um.” Erik offers. His brain appears to have gone on holiday. “Last night-“  
“You fell into my flat through the bathroom window, looking like you’d had an argument with a _train_.” Charles says, slightly worriedly. “Don’t you remember?” Erik feels his jaw slowly unhinge. He snaps it shut. Charles looks vaguely amused.  
“Don’t _I_ remember?” Erik snaps. “What do _you_ remember?” Charles twitches and glares, slightly

“Everything, Erik.” He says, with an effort. “I remember _everything_. Shouldn’t I? Do, are” Charles falters, briefly, flailing about for the correct term “Your kind of people able to interfere with memory?”  
“I’m not some fictional character written by Mr Stoker, Charles.” Erik smiles, slightly, letting his fangs drop into view, as a warning. “Doesn’t matter _what_ you call me, my nature’s the same.” Charles does not look frightened. He looks intrigued.  
“That’s not _actually_ a no, there, Erik.” he says. Erik rolls his eyes. “Anyway, do you eat eggs?”  
“I...” Erik says, slowly.  
“That is, I’m about to scramble some for me, and wondered if you’d like some too.” Scrambled eggs sound delicious, actually. Erik likes eating, although he can never manage all that much. Food doesn’t do him the good it would do a non blood-drinker, although it’s not completely wasted on him.

He nods, and Charles brightens, visibly. Perhaps he’s relieved Erik isn’t asking for sustenance of a more… personal nature, Erik thinks. _Ha._  
“Ok. I’ve put out a set of sweats for you; and the water should be hot. Come through to the kitchen when you’re ready.” Charles says, cheerfully, and withdraws into the kitchen, leaving Erik and his bewilderment in the bedroom. Slowly, Erik drags himself out of the bed and into the bathroom. It is blank and plain, with only the tatter of Erik’s battered ex coat bundled into the corner to reveal anything from last night. Charles has thoughtfully left a razor out, so Erik attends to his stubble first, before he strips and showers quickly, mechanically. He’s too busy thinking about Charles’ extraordinary reaction to last night to really notice the uncertain heat of the water, or the apartment in general. He glowers at the chipped porcelain beneath his feet. He has no idea _what the hell is going on_ , now. Erik _hates_ feeling uncertain. Charles is not in denial, true. But he’s not afraid, either. 

Erik had not planned for this eventuality. Nor does the interest he was showing, about Erik’s… nature appear to be more than a host trying to work out how to show hospitality. It certainly isn’t the crawling, horrible obsession the Herr Doktor had displayed. For one thing, the Herr Doktor never fed Erik with his own blood. Just as well, really; the man’s mind was so twisted, his blood would surely have poisoned Erik, hurt him as badly as his knives and words had. For another, Charles is an anthropologist. One with no sense of bodily fear, it seems. The water has turned completely cold now. Erik represses a shiver, and gets out. The sweats are a little too wide and a little too short on him, but Erik’s not fussy. He yanks the drawstring viciously tight around his waist, and then has to loosen it again. He likes being able to breathe, even if- as with food- it doesn’t do him as much good as a living human. Barefoot, Erik pads towards the source of cooking smells, which he hopes, for Charles’ health, is the kitchen.

It is. Erik drifts silently in, stopping at the doorway, to wordlessly appreciate Charles in his natural habitat, before he becomes aware he is being observed. Charles is wearing battered jeans and an elderly T-shirt. He is humming something light, and pleasing, as he works, scattering vegetables into the pan of eggs on the stove. His hands are deft and strong; Erik likes them. There are freckles on his pale skin. Erik tries hard not to find them endearing. The curve where Charles’ shoulders rise to meet his neck is a sweet pure line of art. He watches as Charles stirs the eggs, and adds herbs. The beauty of the moment is tainted with melancholy. Erik is fairly sure, once Charles comes down to earth from his mad-eyed delusions of welcome, he will realise that he should not want Erik anywhere near him, and so this is probably the last- the only- time he’ll be welcome in Charles’ flat.

Erik notices Charles has laid out a truly awe inspiring range of sauces and condiments on the table. He clears his throat, helpfully. Charles leaves the eggs to their own devices and turns to welcome Erik in. The humming dies, abruptly. _Don’t do that_ , Erik wants to say. _I like hearing the sounds you make when you’re happy._ He does nothing of the sort, of course, simply nods at Charles, who appears to have been briefly struck dumb..  
“Thank you for the clothes.” He stays, slowly. Charles jumps, as if poked, and then says, rapidly.  
“I… You’re welcome. Did the, the shirt part not fit?” Charles reaches behind him and turns the heat off without looking. He appears to be blushing, Erik notes, in bemusement. How strange. He reaches for a chair, and swings it around to straddle it, comfortably.  
“Not well- My arms are a bit wider-“ Erik says, blandly. He displays the arms in question, helpfully. The blush becomes _incandescent._

“Eggs!” Charles says, suddenly. “And vegetables!” He pauses. “You can eat vegetables, can’t you?” The blush appears to be receding, Erik notes, with a little disappointment.  
“Yes, Charles.” He says, patiently. “You’ve seen me eat vegetables before.”  
“I know, but I didn’t know if you were just being polite.” Charles frets as he divides up the sort-of omelets. Erik does not roll his eyes.  
“Since when have I ever bothered being _polite_ , Charles?” Charles smiles.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is not in denial. He’s in the kitchen, trying very hard not to think about Erik, who’s in the shower.  
> Erik is having problems with this whole "friendship" thing, now Charles knows what he is.

Charles can hear Erik stirring in the bedroom the third time he goes to check on him. He leans against the door and watches as Erik turns over, grumbling wordlessly, before something seems to startle him and he sits upright, sharply. Charles hopes it wasn’t his presence that disturbs Erik so.  
“Good Morning!” he chirps, stupidly brightly. Erik seems to share Charles opinion of his tone, because he just stares at Chares as he suggests breakfast. Possibly he’s feeling unwell. Erik’s voice is even more rumbly than usual. He denies this fiercely, reminding Charles of the speed of his recovery from the terrible state he was in last night. Erik clearly thinks Charles has the memory of a goldfish, the way he’s going on about it. Charles worries, frantically, that he’s somehow been _rude_. Maybe he’s appeared judgemental of Erik’s physical… differences. 

Then Erik smiles, and shows Charles his _actual fangs_ , and that reassures him. If Erik was worried or angry about it; he wouldn’t be revealing a part of himself he’s hidden from Charles before, would he? The Dracula reference is clearly a joke, given how little resemblance the Dracula of the book has to the actual historical character whose name Bram Stoker appropriated. Also he seems happy enough to accept Charles’ offer of eggs, clothes and shower. Charles hopes the clothes actually fit enough to be wearable. He’s never been more aware of the differences between his own squat, plump build and Erik’s lean and lithe muscular frame than he is right now. Pleased, Charles turns back to producing the raw ingredients for his amazing omelettes.

Well. They will be amazing, he hopes. Charles starts to slice up an onion, and then he stops, suddenly tormented by a new fear. Onions are related to garlic somehow, he knows. What if the garlic thing is true? Charles didn’t save Erik’s life last night only to _poison_ the man as soon as he gets out of the shower. _Charles’_ shower. _Erik_ is in _Charles’_ shower. Charles shakes his head at himself and goes back to his vegetable concerns. He puts the onion aside, and reaches for the mushrooms. As far as he knows, there is no legend that says vampires- or whatever- have problems with mushrooms. Or peppers. Other legends pop up in Charles’ memory then. Better they stay away from garlic and poppy seeds, mostly. 

Charles begins to feel more cheerful as he sautés the little pile of diced veg. He sweats it carefully, in butter. He starts to whistle to himself as he considers the mix. If he dumps the beaten egg mix straight onto raw veg, the eggs would scorch long before the veg was soft enough to eat, or the water exuded by the vegetables while cooking would dilute the eggs. Omelette making is a highly skilled activity and requires careful concentration. Charles knows. It‘s a pity then, that Erik appears from his shower completely shirtless and barefoot. The display of lean, slightly bruised, chest and toes from Erik, who Charles has never seen in less than about five layers, causes him to temporarily lose his powers of cognition and speech. Also _breathing._ Erik is clearly unaware of the many, _many_ ways his body is as much of a lethal weapon as his mind usually is.

Charles manages to remember to turn the heat off under the eggs, despite Erik’s _straddling_ of a chair and _flexinghis arms_ in a ruthless display of muscles and, and general attractiveness. Charles fights his own tongue long enough to check that Erik has no problems with vegetables, and turns back to the stove, ostensibly to portion up the eggs, but actually to try and regain some of his own higher functions. The other man is clearly appallingly attractive. Charles was charmed by him before all this, to be sure, but he’s slightly alarmed by how much he just _wants_ , now, where Erik is concerned, having seen Erik partially clad in Charles’ own clothes. Perhaps it’s the blood thing. Perhaps it is knowing Erik is what he is. Perhaps it is simply that Erik is the most handsome being Charles has ever been privileged to lay eyes on.

Charles fills his mouth full of eggs before he says anything stupid. Well. Anything _more_ stupid. Erik makes a brave attempt on the eggs, but he’s clearly used to better food. _Maybe being a vampire gives you better taste buds_ , Charles muses, as he watches Erik fillet out another piece of courgette and place it carefully on one side of his plate.  
“I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee.” Charles offers, to break the silence. Erik glances across the table at him, clearly amused.  
“Still faithful to the tea of the old country then?” he teases, lightly. Charles feels himself relaxing into the older patterns of their friendship.

“Technically speaking, the tea is from _India_ , not England.” He corrects Erik, helpful as ever.  
“Unlike yourself.” Erik states, smiling. It’s an old point of humour for him; the mismatch between Charles’ geographical origin and accent. Charles has never really bothered to explain how childhood accents can return, never to fully leave, if you spend long enough back in the old country. Now doesn’t seem like an optimal time, either. He smiles, tiredly. Erik looks away, and then turns back to his eggs.  
“I can’t eat any more, but it was well cooked, thank you.” He says, abruptly. Oh. Charles hopes he isn’t lying out of politeness. He’s not exactly gifted in the domestic arts, whether that’s cooking or anything else. He finishes his own plate of habit, while Erik scrapes the remnants on his plate into the pan, and starts the tap running to fill the sink. _Speaking of domestic._

“Do you want to keep the leftovers?” Erik asks, suddenly. He looks over his – still unclothed!- shoulder at Charles. Charles shakes his head.  
“Eggs don’t really re heat all that well, I’ve found. Were the vegetables ok? I left out the onion.” Erik grunts.  
“Why?” He empties the pan into the bin.  
“I- it’s related to garlic and-“ Charles confesses, shamefacedly. Erik gives a snort of laughter. “You can laugh; I don’t know how anything about this, about you works.” Charles waves his hand at Erik. He abandons the washing up and turns to face Charles more fully.  
“No?” His voice is wry, disbelieving. He sits, fortunately for Charles’ concentration, in a chair facing forwards this time.  
“Last night you looked-“ Charles doesn’t want to remember how Erik looked.  
“I was hit by several cars.” Erik interrupts, quietly.

“You were passing in and out of consciousness and- Well, anyway, you _licked my fingers_.” Charles tries not to blush; he suspects he is unsuccessful as Erik’s lips quirk in a slight smile.  
“Were they already bleeding?” Erik asks, quickly. Charles blinks.  
“Yes. Anyway, some of you, your injuries, they got better.” Charles continues to explain. “And then?” Erik prompts. He rests his chin on his hands, gazing at Charles in strange fascination.  
“Well, you didn’t want to go to hospital.” Erik nods. Charles rubs the bruises on his wrist feelingly. “So I took a razor blade and-” he waves his fingers with their little cuts neatly scabbing over at Erik. He’s pretty sure Erik remembers _biting_ him.

“And you did all that _without knowing what would happen?_ ” Erik says, disbelieving.  
“I had _some_ data. I could _extrapolate_!” Charles fires back at him. Erik is shaking his head.  
“No. No, you must have known about this. Why lie now?”  
“Why must I have known?” Charles looks confused. “Is there some kind of secret society, or something?” That would be really interesting, he thinks, if a little cliché.  
“No.” Erik mutters. He rakes his (long, beautiful) fingers, (Charles notices), through his hair “But you- you’re so calm. Not afraid.” Erik says at last. “How can you be not afraid of me?”  
“Can you actually detect my emotional state with your senses? Which ones?” Charles wonders. Erik gives him a long, unamused look.  
“Yes. With my _eyes_ , mostly.” He stares at Charles. “Why?”  
“Why should I be afraid of you, Erik?” Charles asks, calmly.

Erik has no real answer to that. He is forced to fall back onto staring speechlessly. Something of the tenseness, the anxiety, beyond his bewilderment must become evident to Charles, then, because his face softens. He leans forwards, and lays a hand on Erik’s arm.  
“Erik. How did we meet, again?”  
“The alley. William-“ Erik mutters.  
“You rescued me.” Charles reminds him, his voice gentle but unrelenting. “You’re my friend, Erik.” Charles’ eyes blaze with a dangerous certainty. Erik can’t bear the light in them so close. He rears backwards, away from the table, and stands, staring at Charles.  
“You _can’t-_ " he starts to choke out. Charles looks at him, impatiently.  
“Erik. Do you _want_ to harm me, now I know this?”

 

“No.” he snaps out, curtly. He _doesn’t_. It’s just that- Charles continues, inexorably.  
“Is there some, some set of rules we’ve transgressed that means you’re _supposed_ to harm me now?” Erik looks puzzled. Charles explains, helpfully “Wipe my mind, or kill me to keep the secret, that sort of thing?” Erik snarls, and curses every vampire book every written, especially Twilight.  
“No.” he admits, sullenly. “I’ve only ever met two others like me, and both meetings were long ago.” Charles sighs, a little sadly.  
“So that means there’s no vampire culture that will force me into being your blood thrall or sex slave or anything, for finding out?”  
 _“NO!”_ Erik yelps. Where does Charles come up with these things? _Thrall? Sex slave?_ Good _God_. He shakes his head violently.  
“Pity.” Charles says, shamelessly. Then he blushes again.

Erik finds he has no response to _any_ of this. Charles is not delusional, or amnesiac, he is _insane._ He says as much, and Charles just smiles, and pats him on the shoulder, calmingly, which would be more effective if Erik had been wearing a shirt.  
“I’m just your friend, Erik.” He says soothingly. Something in Erik gives way, almost violently.  
“Just your _friend_ , is it Charles?” Erik steps forwards, crowding the smaller man against the table, deliberately. Charles does not flinch. He leans backwards on the table. Erik follows him, not letting up for a second. Charles’ eyes are bright and his breathing is fast, but unbelievably, he is still not afraid. Erik bends towards him, until they are eye to eye; faces practically touching. Charles sucks in a breath, wets his lips with his tongue and says;  
“Yes. _Your_ friend, Erik.” Erik kisses him before he can say anything further. There is a second’s startled pause, and then Charles’ arms wind around Erik’s back, and he is kissing Erik back as fiercely as he is being kissed.

Well. That was not _precisely_ the reaction Charles thinks Erik expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. So, it occurs to me that Erik's reaction here needs a little immediate explanation.
> 
> He's _frightened_. Nothing he's doing is driving Charles away, like Erik's expecting it to, so he kisses him. Erik foolishly thinks that Charles will not want him to do that and will object, which Erik can treat as the rejection he's braced for. (Also Erik wants to kiss him anyway, because, Charles)
> 
> I haven't tagged this as dub con, because we can see from Charles' reaction that he's quite pleased to be kissed, but I do feel the need to explain this in a rambling note, in case anyone gets the wrong idea before the next chapter arrives to explain it all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik was not expecting this, but the rest of us were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual sexytiems ahead!

The kissing is messy, hot, and more than a little desperate on Erik’s part, Charles thinks. It ends too soon for his liking, as Erik jerks backwards, suddenly, glaring as if Charles had made the first move, and it had been unwelcome.  
“What?” Charles says, crossly, and wipes his mouth. There may have been a little drool. Erik is gazing at him in awe or terror, or both.  
“You.” Erik says, a little blankly. “You really aren’t afraid of me, of, of this, are you?” Charles smiles, and shakes his head. It’s a funny feeling, to feel like he has the upper hand in a situation that involves Erik Lensherr.  
“How could I be?” Charles says, reasonably enough, he thinks. “I _know_ you.” Erik shakes his head. “Yes, I do.” Charles says, amused. “And you know me.” He tries to keep the suggestive hope out his voice. The set of Erik’s eyebrows indicate he’s probably failed.

“Charles.” Erik says, trying to sound noble, and wise, and distant, Charles thinks. He just sounds miserable and pretentious. “You don’t know anything about me. You just think you do.”  
“Fine.” Charles says, agreeably, strolling around the kitchen table, hands in his pocket as he moves towards Erik.  
“Fine?” Erik says, questioningly. He doesn’t back away as Charles moves in. It is clear to Charles that Erik could bolt in any direction, with very little notice, and he doesn’t want to push him the slightest bit more than necessary. Gently. _Gently_.  
“I don't know everything about you, Erik Lensherr. I only know you like long walks, and libraries, and expensive coffee, and rescuing drugged up researchers from interviews gone wrong.” Charles says, challengingly, as he moves with arm’s reach of Erik. He stops. 

Erik doesn’t move away. Charles takes his hands out of his pockets and tilts his head, challengingly. There’s a pause.  
“So _teach me_.” Charles says, finally, and lays a hand over Erik’s thrumming heart. A tingle traces though his fingers, like static electricity, but not. He waits.  
“I.” Erik says, and stops. “ _You_.” He says, accusingly, and stops again. Charles tilts his head again, and doesn’t -quite- smirk.  
 _“Yeeees?_ ” Charles says, slowly, drawing it out. Erik is silent. He’s not breathing, Charles notes, and does his best to subdue his curiosity and concern in that area.  
“You can’t want me- want _this_ -” Erik says, desperately. Erik bares his teeth in what Charles thinks is an oddly strained grin at first, until he sees the fangs lurking in it.

Charles lifts one fingertip to touch the corner of Erik’s mouth. Erik jerks his head back, but subsides, like a startled horse settling.  
“If this” he taps the tooth with his nail and a chill shivers down his spine. “Is part of you, then yes, _I want it_. I want _all_ of you that you’re willing to share.” Charles drops his hand to Erik’s cheek, and stares upwards, challengingly. “Do you want me?” Erik groans, squeezing his eyes shut. He lays a hand over Charles’, holding it to his face.  
“I shouldn’t.” He grits out.  
“That’s not a no.” Charles says. Erik looks at him.  
“No.” He says. “It’s not.” Erik drops his hand, and Charles backs off half a step. 

He watches as Erik tries to avoid looking disappointed, and fails.  
“Well?” Charles says, and backs up another step. Erik twitches towards him, slightly. Charles grins, internally. “If you want me, and I want you, what do you say to some… mutual knowledge sharing?” He may or may not waggle his eyebrows. Erik snorts with sudden laughter, and moves towards him.  
“As ever, Charles, your pick up lines are _dreadful_.” Erik’s winding his arms around Charles as he speaks, and his tone is fond, so Charles refuses to feel chastened.  
“True.” He says, shamelessly. Erik snorts with laughter again.

Erik gives a sudden pull, and yanks Charles towards him, forcing him up onto his toes. He puts his hands up to Erik’s shoulders.  
“Charles… you know I’m not _safe_.” He says. It might have been meant as a warning, but Erik’s holding Charles too tightly for that. He steps forwards again, and Charles has to walk backwards. Charles drops a kiss on the side of Erik’s mouth, and winces as his bottom lip catches against Erik’s fangs.  
“Erik…” Charles says, licking his lip to soothe the sting. “ _You_ know there’s no such thing as safe.” Erik stares at Charles’ mouth again, so he licks his lips once more time, just to be sure. Charles smoothes his hand down Erik’s flank, delighting in the feel of skin over muscle over blood and bone. Erik’s eyes darken.  
 _“You._ ” He hisses out as they move out of the kitchen. “You ridiculous, impossible-“

A thought strikes Charles, urgently.  
“Um… I don’t have any condoms…” Erik snickers.  
“I’m not going to get you pregnant.” He says, and then, more seriously. “Or turn you, if that’s what you wanted.” Charles kisses him again, and Erik smirks.  
Charles laughs as they manoeuvre through the hallway and back into his bedroom without releasing each other. Then one of Erik’s broad hands slips below his T-shirt, sliding down his back, under his waist band and Charles gasps, shocked, at the sensations of _warmth_ and _skin_ touching him. Erik chuckles, roughly.

“Impossible.” Erik says, again, as they tumble onto the bed. “Simply _impossible._ ”  
“Oh, I am, am I?” Charles says, daringly, as he helps Erik pull the T shirt up and off over his head. “What about _you?_ ”  
“I’m not impossible.” Erik says, gravely, gazing up at Charles. “I’m merely _very improbable_.” Charles laughs again, breathlessly, and wriggles, deliberately, against Erik. Erik chokes off a curse.  
“Certainly _feels_ improbable.” Charles says. “I mean, is that part of it all? Blood drinking, immortality, a huge-“  
“No.” Erik grins. “That’s always been so.” He slides down the bed and after some urgent fumbling, throws his borrowed sweatpants and Charles’ jeans into a corner, triumphantly. 

Charles watches through suddenly wide eyes. His heart is pounding. Erik naked and whole is a glorious thing, all lean lines of elegant bone and strong flesh, marred here and there by fading scars. Charles feels palid and lumpen; a sheep standing next to a racehorse, in comparison. He blinks and keeps his eyes closed, just for a moment. Catching his breath.  
“Ah, no. No hiding here, _liebling_. Only truth.” Erik says, in his ear. Charles opens his eyes, and looks at Erik’s glorious form again. He licks his lips- Erik seemed to like that before- and kisses him, fiercely. The fangs are still there. Charles cuts his tongue slightly, and it tingles, too.  
“First lesson.” Erik says, grinning. Charles smiles. Erik kisses him, on the mouth and neck and shoulder.  
“Truth.” Charles agrees. He opens his mouth to say more, but is silenced by the blaze of desire that shines in his vampires’ eyes. For him

Erik kisses his way across Charles' chest, from nipple to nipple. He swipes his tongue over the nearest one, and grins as Charles chokes and bucks under the tingling sensation. Then he does it again, to the other. Charles yelps. His nipples aren't usually that sensitive.  
"What did- how-" he pants, desperately. Erik smirks, delighting in Charles' wide-eyed astonishment.  
"Second lesson." he says. "That is becaise I am... what I am. Give me your fingers." He sucks Charles fingers as he did the night before, only, this time, Charles feels the difference in Erik's hungers. In the way his tongue is _moving_. Erik licks his own hand then, and palms Charles' rapidly stiffening cock. 

Charles shifts his hand down to Erik's own cock, and is briefly distracted by the feel of it, the warm, silken weight, in his hand. Then the sensation of Erik's hand on him rises up to distract him. The featherlight, tingling sensations are exquisite. Charles moans. Automatically, his hand tightens. Erik gasps, but continues jerking them both off, hands moving sure and steady on both of them as Charles chokes and babbles frantically, hips and hands working erratically as the waves of pleasure build. Then the dam breaks, and Charles is tumbled head over heels, swept out to sea and drowned deep in excruciating pleasure.  
"Haaah!" he gasps, and weakly, keeps his own hand moving with Erik, until Erik joins him underwater, spilling over and crying out.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles have a conversation. Erik has a flashback. Charles finds out another effect of the ever-useful vampire saliva.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I forgot I had this chapter almost ready to go, and I needed a break from Tourist -verse, so here, have some fluffy vampire shenanigans.

Afterwards, Charles is quite happy to lie there, sweaty and sticky and folded into Erik’s fierce embrace, but then the vampire moves, muttering. Naked, he padded to the bathroom, and reappeared with a warm and damp towel. Charles opens his eyes again as Erik bends over him, wiping him clean with the same careful focus as he usually has with everything. Charles is far too relaxed to grow hard again so soon, but he still feels a tiny shiver of something roll through him as Erik takes care of him.   
“Mmm.” Charles sighs. His eyes flutter shut again. Erik snorts.

“This hasn’t solved anything, you know.” Charles opens his eyes again.  
“Was it supposed to? As I recall, you started it.”   
“Very mature, Charles.” Erik snorts.  
“Come back to bed, I’m cold.” Charles tries to sound enticing. Erik slides in next to him, and he congratulates himself.   
“So.” Erik rasps, uncertainly. “What… what do you want to happen now?” Charles tries to clear his thoughts. It’s not so much that Charles has a vast amount of experience, in comparison, but, for once, he feels more confident than the other party. Well, mostly.

“Do you mean in this bed?” he says, brightly. “Because this” he wriggles a little further into Erik’s space. Erik wraps himself around Charles as if Charles were the one inclined to secrecy and running away.  
“Is just fine with me for a while. Or-“ Charles starts, before Erik cuts him off  
“Longer term. You’ve had me once, is it enough or do you want more?” Erik says, harshly. Charles would be hurt by that, but Erik is so very clearly gun shy when it comes to intimacy.  
“I want whatever you need to make you happy.” Charles says, and is rewarded by another snort.

“Pretty.” Erik says, bitter. His shoulders are rising towards his ears, and his mouth is a downturned line.  
“Erik.” Charles says, turning to face him. “Stop it. I’m here, I know what you are, and I’m _not going anywhere_ unless you want me to.” Erik exhales.  
“I don’t.” He says, abruptly. “I don’t want you to go.” There’s a pause. Then Erik says, rapid and low “But, I am not a monster to fuck for a thrill, either.”  
“When did I _ever-“_ Charles said, indignantly. Erik spoke over him.  
“But I am a monster, some people… like that.” He finished and glared at Charles in challenge. Charles didn’t back down or look away.

“I like you as you are, and who you are, Erik.” Charles said, calmly. Erik looked unconvinced Charles sighs. “I always have. Your… nature is part of you; of course I love it and am fascinated. All of you is fascinating.” Erik doesn’t say anything more, for a while, but his face smoothes out and his shoulders relax.   
“Good… I am not safe; but I don’t… “ he trails off.  
“That’s not all you are, my friend, believe me.” Charles said, warmly. “There’s good in you too, I’ve felt it.” Erik raises an insinuating eyebrow. Charles cuffs his shoulder, laughing.  
“That was not what I meant, and you know it!” he says, blushing. “I meant, you saved my life, and..” his voice goes smaller, shyer “you’re my friend. Aren’t you.”

Erik’s face lights up in wonder.  
“Yes.” He says gruffly. “I suppose I must be.” Charles wants to find out who did this; taught Erik he was a _monster_ , only good for a quick thrill before dumping, and he wants to _hurt_ them. He blinks, mildly surprised at the strength of his feeling, and slides an arm round Erik. Silly. They might be long dead, and anyway, Erik is right here, now. He rests his head on Erik’s chest, listening to the humming thrum that serves Erik for a pulse.  
“Does your heart still actually beat?” Charles said, into Erik’s chest. 

Erik tenses, but replies calmly enough;  
“Yes. Same as breathing; I don’t need to as much- except for talking- but, yes.”  
“Hmm.” Charles says, thoughtfully. “Wonder how that works?” Erik’s breathing stops. And… doesn’t start again.   
“Erik?” Charles says, a few minutes later, rising up on one elbow. Eyes frozen glassy and wide, Erik is silent and still. Like a corpse in Charles’s bed.  
 _“Erik!”_ Charles shouts. Erik’s eyes snap to focus on him. Charles is trembling.

“Erik, don’t, don’t… Look, _warn_ me if you’re going to do that, ok?” he says, shakily, and Erik can hear Charles’ heart pounding, the oh-so-delicious blood rushing in his veins. He was afraid. For Erik. Erik feels ashamed.  
“Ach, I’m sorry.” He says, turning to draw Charles into a tight hug.  
“S’ok.” Charles says. “I thought you were dead. just, just for a second."  
“No. Erik says, grinning. “Just undead. A handy trick, that.”

“I can see that…, well, if you don’t mind, perhaps I can try a few things, sometime? There’s so much we could find out about you.” Charles said, hastily. The words roar in Eriks mind. He hears them spoken in that hated voice. The hug vanishes, and Erik leaps from the bed, sending Charles tumbling into the nightstand.  
 _ **”No!”**_ he insists, hoarsely, scrambling on his knees to put his back against a wall. _”No!”_  
“Ow.” Charles begins, but stops when he sees Erik, frozen on the floor, locked into some fearful flashback. Charles re runs the last few minutes of talk, in his head and makes a note to kick himself, as soon as he’s sure Erik is alright.

“Erik?” Charles says, carefully, swinging his legs out of the bed and approaching. Erik shouts something in another language. German, maybe. Charles isn’t certain. He puts out a hand to touch Erik on the shoulder. Erik starts violently, but he looks at Charles like he knows who he is. Charles puts out his other hand, and kneels in front to Erik.  
“Erik, what-“ Shakily, Erik raises a hand and touches Charles’ head, still throbbing from where he hit it in the nightstand.  
“I hurt you. Oh God.” He says, in a whisper. “You’re bleeding.” Erik adds, looking at his fingertips in horror. He closes his eyes. A fine tremor runs through him.

“You didn’t exactly hit me, you fell off the bed, and so did I.” Charles says back, crisply. Erik blinks at him.  
“That… that looked like a flashback.” Charles adds, slowly. Invitingly.  
“I- in the War, the last big one. Bad things, the camps, they happened.” Erik says, abruptly. “I-there was a doctor. He knew about me. They wanted a super soldier-“  
“They tried that in the US, too.” Charles murmured.  
“Not like this.” Erik said, grimly. “He wanted the, the secret, from me. Vampirism. I didn’t tell. He tried to find out.”  
“That… must have been hard.” Charles says, very carefully. Erik looks at him, sharply.

“It was.” He says, simply. “But… he, of all people, did not deserve to live so long as he did. I was not going to allow him to learn how to live longer still.”  
“Is that… your scars?” Charles starts, but Erik shakes his head, jerkily.  
“From before. Before I changed. Now I do not really scar at all. He liked that.”  
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, Erik.” Charles said. “I’m so stupid, I’m sorry-“ A little clumsily, Erik kissed him, and shook his head.  
“You are sorry, I am sorry. It doesn’t matter.” Charles bowed his head. Erik sniffed the air.

Charles brought his own fingers to his head, and prodded. He winced.  
“What’s it look like?” he says, and tilts forwards, presenting his head for inspection. Erik falters.   
“I told you, you’re bleeding. Not badly.” He mutters, gently leafing through Charles’s hair.  
“Damn.” Charles mutters. “What a waste.”  
“Waste?”   
“Well, I think you can only give blood once a month so that means we’ll have to wait and-“  
Erik’s eyes look ridiculous when they go that wide, Charles thinks. Really, the man is too handsome, even when startled.

“You- you would give me, grant me, more?” Erik says, shakily. “More than you already have?” He sounds amazed, as if he’d never-  
“It was rather nice. You held me.” Charles says awkwardly. “It was… Comforting. Warm, safe.” Erik shuffles forwards, and wraps his arms around Charles, gently.  
“You don’t have to bleed, for me to do that.” He says, before nuzzling at Charles’s face.  
“I know.” Charles says, evenly. “I know.” He does. Erik is so generous.

“But if you do want to… do that, for me, with me…” Erik says. “There are ways of making it far more than just _comforting._ Charles gulps.  
“Oh.” He says, faintly. “Sounds interesting.” Erik chuckles a little, and kisses Charles’ head, right where he’s bleeding from cutting his head on the corner of the nightstand.  
“May I show you?”  
“Please….” Charles says, breathless with excitement. Erik seems to concentrate for a moment, and then his tongue sweeps out to caress the small wound. For a second, nothing happens, and Charles has a moment to feel disappointment, before _pleasure_ \- deep, intimate, shocking and unavoidable- races though him. He moans.

He feels like he’s just come, hard. Like he’s won a prize and ridden a tiger and he’s flying. Erik smirks a little, and does it again.   
“I… uh, oh, I see what you mean- Erik I-“ Charles jerks and convulses, happily, until it starts to get too much. He’s going to black out. He slumps into Erik’s arms, and instantly, the vampire stops.  
“Charles?” Charles raises a nerveless hand to his face. It’s shaking slightly.  
“Feels… good.” He offers, feebly. Erik shuffles, and then stands, carrying Charles back to the bed. Charles takes a moment to marvel at his effortless strength.

“Sorry. I didn’t think you would respond so strongly- you must still have me in your system, from before.” Erik says, shamefaced.  
“I’d like you in my system again.” Charles mutters, and goes a luminous red. Erik sighs, climbing into bed with him.  
“You really need to work on your pick up lines, Charles.” Charles gives him a dreamy grin.  
“Not if they _work._ ”  
“Hush, you.” Erik says, then. “Go to sleep.” Charles’s eyes snap shut, obediently. Erik watches Charles nervously, for a moment, but all Charles does is smile and snuggle in closer. Erik drapes the blanket over them both and goes back to watching him, wonderingly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is angsting. Charles uses tea! It's super effective!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's soooo cold here. I must surround myself with warm fuzzies and happy thermo-insulated fluff.
> 
>  
> 
> Natuarally, I turned to my broody vampire!Erik for help with that.

Erik hates feeling uncertain. Yet these last few weeks since Charles discovered Erik’s terrible, true, nature, have left him… unsure. Of many things. For one, thing, the very few who have had Erik’s secrets revealed to them have generally reacted in disbelief or screaming horror. For another, the ones who did not were usually morbidly, painfully obsessed with finding out _more_ , whether Erik wanted them to or not. The people he has associated with while pretending to be fully human _-oh, Magda,-_ he apologises again, have usually not been particularly… fond of him. No one’s every been happy to see him, like Charles always seems to be.

Either people take his presence and contributions for granted, or resent the air he breathes, or ignore him, although some particularly gifted souls manage all three. Charles has, irritatingly, done none of these things, causing Erik to have to invent a whole new category of people, just for him. This is one of the things that make him uncertain. Charles is… _adorable, charming, perfect_ … Erik reel his thoughts back in, hastily- Charles. He changed very little, on knowing that Erik is what he is, and at the same time he changed completely. Perhaps that is due to the sex, though. Charles is very um, _enthusiastic_ about the sex. Not that Erik would precisely categorise himself as unenthusiastic, but Charles sometimes seems intent on devouring him alive. As it were.

Erik is not entirely unaware of the expertise he has in this area; so many centuries of life are bound to be good for _something_ , in terms of accumulating knowledge, and sex is as good an area as any to… ah, learn in. Erik knows he’s good for his partners, at least physically. Charles apparently feels he needs a lot of lessons. Erik doesn’t feel like he can teach Charles much more- who improves on perfection? - but Charles is so very eager and enthusiastic, it’s hard to even consider resisting. Erik thinks he probably could not say no even if he wanted to. Unless it would hurt Charles. Then all bets are off. Obviously.

Charles smiles at Erik and greets him with a kiss, whenever and wherever they meet. He nags Erik into eating more, and sleeps curled in Erik’s arms, smiling. Erik needs little sleep, when healthy, and so spends much of their nights, holding Charles, and wondering how long he will get to experience this. Erik doesn’t get to keep things like this person, this love. Someone as beautiful; mind, soul and body, as Charles, will not be around for long. He will find his true soul’s shelter; grow up or out or weary of Erik, who is old, old and bitterly angry and good for so very little besides enduring.

Even if Charles puts loyalty and duty above his own happiness, which seems quite likely, time will take him from Erik, instead. Erik has as many years ahead of him as he has behind, if not more, and Charles, bright, candle-flame, mayfly Charles has but the usual three score years and ten. He hasn’t asked about immortality and for all his initial curiosity about Erik’s nature, he has asked very little about it since Erik hurt him. Charles hasn’t offered more blood- not that he should- and Erik has left off the tricks his venom can give him; Charles doesn’t seem to need them. Of course, Charles-  
“Drink your tea.”

“What?” Charles looks a mix of amused and annoyed.  
“I made you a fresh cup; the last one got cold. Stop worrying, and drink your tea.” Erik took the cup held out to him, automatically, and shifted to make room for Charles on the couch.  
“What are you worrying so hard about?” Charles says, softly.  
“I’m not worrying.” Erik says, automatically. Charles lifts an eyebrow.  
“Darling man, you have this little crease in your beautiful forehead, right here” -he puts out a finger and traces some imaginary wrinkle on Erik’s ageless brow- “The same one you get whenever you brood.”

Erik sighs.  
“Plus, there’s that.” Charles says. He moves Erik’s feet from the floor, into his lap, slightly possessively. Pensively, he begins to unlace one of Erik’s shoes.  
“What?”  
“You sighed, poignantly. _Again._ ” Charles says. “Seriously, Erik, what’s going on? Can I help?” Erik blinks at him, bemused.  
“Help?”  
Charles sticks out his tongue, and removes Erik’s shoe. He discards it to the floor with a satisfied hum, and starts on the other.

“Yes. Help. You know; that thing where someone else lends a hand? Or an ear, or a shoulder?”  
“Are those the only body parts on offer?” Erik smirks. Charles goes a delicate pink, along his cheekbones. Erik awards himself two points, and stores the image for the future, when he no longer has the real thing to look at-  
“There it is again!” Charles says, as he gets rid of the other shoe, and yanks off Erik’s socks. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”  
“What are you doing?” Erik says then, as Charles turns to face him.

“Giving you a foot rub. I don’t see you drinking that tea, by the way.” Meekly, Erik sips. It’s good.  
“This is good tea.” He says, as Charles presses his thumbs firmly into Erik’s instep. “Mmmm.”  
“So what’s wrong?” Charles says, for the third time. Erik shifts lower on the couch, and closes his eyes.  
“Nothing.” He says, reluctantly. “Nothing’s wrong.” Charles hums, and starts on Erik’s toes. The silence stretches. Erik tries not to sag into the couch. Foot rubs are _amazing._  
“So…?”  
“Nothing is wrong.” Erik repeats. “That’s the problem.” 

Charles’ fingers never stop moving, but his voice goes a little tighter.  
“I’m sorry, could you explain that?”  
“I… it’s all too good.” Erik says. Charles starts on the other foot. Erik sips more tea.  
“It?” Charles says, reaching for more oil.  
“I- Charles, you are a bright light, a, a, an amazing thing, and, and, I’m not used to-“ he falters.  
“To what?”  
“I’m happy.” Erik says, in a small voice, and Charles stops the foot rub. “I’m going to miss it- you, when-“

 

“What?” Charles says, sharply. “When I _what_ , Erik?”  
“When you leave.” Erik says, at last, as if the sentence is obvious. Charles swallows. His chest hurts.  
“And… you expect me to leave?” he says, lightly, hiding the hurt. Erik blinks at him, worriedly. He doesn’t want to say this, but if Charles insists, well. Let it be said here and now, and acknowledged.   
“No. But Charles, you can’t possibly want-“ Charles stiffens, and Erik’s voice dries up. His eyes do not feel wet, he tells them. Charles stands, placing Erik’s feet very gently and precisely on the couch in the warm depression where he was sitting. Erik watches him with stricken eyes. He knew this would happen. He knew it.

And then Charles whirls and throws himself on top of Erik, forcing a harsh wheeze from the vampire’s chest.

“Erik, you are an idiot.” Charles says fiercely, “A complete _idiot._ " He drops a gentle kiss on Erik’s nose. Erik’s eyes cross as he looks at him.  
“I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.” Charles says, low and fierce.  
“But- Charles-you deserve-“ Charles kisses Erik again, and wriggles until Erik’s brain short circuits.  
“Suppose, my darling man, we leave what I want and what I deserve up to _me?_ ”  
“Hhhhhhnnnngggghhh.” Erik responds, more or less coherently.   
“I- I love you, Erik Lennsherr.” Charles says, pinkly. “And I will do so as long as you let me-“  
Erik sits up, slightly, and kisses the rest of the sentence right out of his mouth.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the sex; conversation!
> 
> Or, Charles reassures ERik he wants him to meet his friends and _then_ remembers Hank is a scientist.

“Now.” Charles said a certain amount of time later. “I’ve heard from Raven.” Erik regretfully stopped stroking Charles’s bare flank and looked up at him, as he lay over his lover.  
“And?” Erik felt wary. Surely Charles would want to protect Raven from the threat of his presence? Would see him as a blood drinker, a threat to young maidens everywhere? He had already admitted to seeing the Hammer films; he would know-  
“She’s popping by to visit, with Hank, probably tomorrow.” Charles said, cheerfully. Erik blinked. He seemed to end up doing an awful lot of that around Charles.

“I understand.” He said, heavily. He did. It was kind of Charles to warn him to leave so circumspectly. Without rejecting him. Charles’ eyebrows rose. Erik frowned. Was there somethig on his face? Why was CHarles staring?  
“Um, good?” Charles said, slowly, uncertain. Erik shifted his hand from Charles’ side to his lover’s face, tracing out his jaw line. Slightly stubbly now- Charles really needed to shave again.   
“Um, Erik?” Charles said, after another pause. “ _What_ do you understand?” Erik breathed out. It was not a sigh. Charles tended to get… determined if Erik sighed too much.  
“I’ll go back to my place, for a while.” Erik said, trying to sound careless. “She’s your sister. You won’t- Unless she’s, um, moving back in, I suppose-“ 

Erik tried not to sound wistful or clingy. He wa fairly sure, after what had just happened, that Charles would want him back, even-   
“There’s that frown again.” Charles made a strange snorting noise. “No.” he said, and bit at Erik’s bare shoulder, firmly. “You didn’t understand.” Erik blinked again. He tried not to shiver, at the feel of Charles’s teeth in his skin. It was a little distracting, really.  
“I told you about Raven because I would quite like you to meet her. And Hank.” Charles explained, patiently, between bites. “I know you’re a bit- shy, and anti-social, but-“  
“I am not shy!” Erik snapped. Charles’s eyes were dancing.  
“Of course not.” He said, soothingly. And bit down again. Erik grunted. 

“Sorry.” Charles said, quietly. “I just thought, it would be nice if you met, that’s all. Raven’s starting to doubt you actually exist-“  
“You _told_ her?” Erik said, harshly, panic jangling through him. Charles frowned.  
“That you’re a vampire? No.” Erik relaxed at little. Charles shifted on top of him, comfortably.  
“I don’t think she’d believe me without proof, and anyway, it’s up to you who you tell, I thought.” Charles said, slightly worried. Erik smiled at him.  
“So, what did you tell her?” Erik demanded. Charles began stroking Erik’s hip, soothingly as he talked.

“Oh, not much” He said, carelessly. “Only that you saved my life, or at least my virtue-“   
“Given where you hand is, right now.” Charles shot him a sly grin “I’m not that you can be said to have that much virtue, Charles…” Erik said, breathlessly.  
“She said I was making things up.”  
“She didn’t believe you’d been attacked?!” Erik sat up, sharply, grabbing hold of Charles’ arm to stop him sliding off the couch.  
“No, she believed that!” Charles said, quickly. “Just not that I’d met my rescuer, and he was lovely.”

By sheer force of will, Erik did not blush.  
“I’m not lovely, Charles.” He said, sternly. Charles quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’m not.”  
“Well, if she doesn’t get to meet you, it’s a moot point, anyway.” Charles said. Erik sighed.  
“When’s she coming, then?” Charles blinked at him. Erik felt like smirking. There. Now Charles was doing it, too.  
“Probably tomorrow morning- Erik, are you sure?” Charles said, quickly. “I don’t want to force-“  
“Charles.” Erik said, simply. “She’s _your_ sister. Hank is _your_ friend. You’ve talked about them enough; of course I want to meet them if you let me.” 

Charles’ eyes lit up, gleaming like delighted sapphires. Then they dimmed slightly.  
“Uh- Hank is studying to be a doctor.” He said, worriedly. “ I didn’t think- I don’t know-“  
“What field?” Erik said, harshly, over the sudden, tearing anxiety in his chest. People Charles knew wouldn’t- wouldn’t be like Schmidt was. Would they? Hank had never hurt _Charles_ , had he?  
“Genetics- we did some classes together, at college, before-“ Charles broke off. “Erik, are you ok?”  
“I’m fine.” Erik meant to sound firm, and was startled to hear his voice wavering, uncertainly. 

“You’re shaking.” Charles reached to the floor and dragged up the elderly afghan that usually draped his couch. He wrapped it and his arms around Erik, carefully.  
“I-I’m fine.” Erik said. “I just- I don’t like doctors. I-I told you-” He cut himself off, abruptly.  
“Well, Hank is no threat to you.” Charles said, gently. “Honestly. He specializes in genetics, not immortality! He has ethics, he‘d never approve of research that caused pain or involved an unwilling participant.” Erik looked unconvinced. Charles gave up on the attempt to prove Hank’s moral probity, adding “Besides, he doesn’t know that vampires are real. So.” He smiled, anxiously. 

“So.” Erik said, slowly. “I believe you. Hank is harmless.” He took a deep breath, and straightened up a little. Erik tried to smile as he looked about the room.  
“Shall we clean up your apartment, ready for your guests?”   
“In a bit.” Charles said. “Can you-“ He broke off, and reached for his shirt. Erik watched him move to cover himself up with some regret.  
“I don’t want to pry.” Charles said, next, carefully, as he buttoned his shirt. “But I don’t want to hurt you because I don’t know something I need to, either.” Erik blinked, and drew in a breath to reassure him.  
“I’m very hard to damage, Charles.” He said, wryly. “You’ve seen that in action.”

“I’ve also see you have a flashback triggered by a single sentence of mine, too.” Charles said, quietly. “I’d like to know if there’s any other words or sentences I should avoid. I’m not… trying to make you tell me things. I just- you’ve been hurt enough.” There was a long silence. Charles bit his lip. Had he pushed things too far? He didn’t want to force Erik into thinking or talking about things he was not ready for- but equally, he didn’t want to run the risk of triggering Erik as he had done last month. Erik coughed, slightly, and then cleared his throat. Charles held his breath, hopeful.

“White.” Erik said, quietly. “No white coats. No, no medical experts, not ever.” Charles nodded, afraid to speak and break the spell. Erik drew his knees up to his chest. Charles put a hand over Erik’s, gently.  
“No- no experiments. I don’t like to see needles- or blades. Even sewing needles” Erik said, next, rapidly, staring at their linked hands. “Don’t talk about finding out about me. Even if it’s a joke.” Charles nodded. “I- No restraints.” Erik said, looking nauseated.  
“I would have thought you could break most of the standard ones.” Charles murmured. “You’re very strong.” Erik glanced at him, and shivered.  
“Not on _me_ ” he said, sharply. “The camps- I- he- I had to-“

“I understand.” Charles said, very seriously. “Can you sit up a bit more?” Erik wriggled, slightly. Charles moved to sit down next to Erik on couch, and wrapped his arm around him. Fine shivers were running through Erik, tiny symbols of the enormous stress he was feeling, keeping himself under control.   
“I’m sorry.” Charles said.  
“Don’t _pity_ me-“ Erik snapped, hunching into himself. “I-I survived him. No one else did. Schmidt’s dead- I got away, so don't, _don’t-_ ”  
“I don’t pity you.” Charles said. Erik whipped round to stare at him, startled and very slightly indignant. 

“I don’t feel pity for you.” Charles said, again. “I feel awe, and respect, and a lot of pride- you’ve-“  
“Endured so much?” Erik said, harshly. He was not all warmed by the affection and pride in Charles’s gaze. Not at all.  
“ _Survived_ so much.” Charles said, firmly. “You went through- I don’t know what awful experiences, terrible things, but you’re still here. You’re still _you_.”  
“You can’t know that.” Erik pointed out. “It happened before you were born.”  
“I somehow doubt the essential aspects of your personality were unformed until the 1940s.” Charles looked at him, mildly. A corner of his mouth turned up.

“You know.” He said, and the other corner of his mouth turned up, too. “Somehow.” Erik smiled faintly, and nodded in acknowledgement.  
“I suppose, you are not completely wrong there.” He said, graciously, and leant back, until his head was in Charles’s lap. He wound his hands into the rug. Charles started combing though his hair. Erik breathed out.  
“I’m not completely wrong.” Charles said, pleased. “Thank you darling, for that ringing endorsement.” Erik shifted slightly, rubbing his head against Charles’ thigh as he got comfortable. He closed his eyes. Charles went back to petting his hair.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threats are how we show people we love them.

“Charles.” Erik said, faintly bemused at Charles's restless fidgiting around. “The apartment is clean. And tidy. Stop fretting.” Charles smiled thinly, and put down the dust cloth. ERik smiled, encouragingly.  
“Sorry.” He said, a little sheepishly. “I just- she’s my sister, and, and-“ Erik caught at his sleeve as Charles paced past, yanking him around to face Erik as he lounged in the one really comfortable chair. He’d had to bring it into the apartment himself. Erik didn’t understand what Charles had against decent furniture. It wasn’t like it wasn’t hard to come y, but still- everything was flat pack, cheap and easily broken or uncomfortable except for Erik’s chair, and the couch. Erik was already plotting to destroy Charles’s bed, and they’d scarcely been sharing it for a month.

“Surely I should be the one who is worried about meeting your family?” he said, teasingly. Charles shrugged, uneasy.  
"I'm sure youo'll get along with them fine- you're amazing, Erik, you really are." He stuck his hands in the pocket of his jeans. Erik’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Charles thoughtfully. Charles hunched his shoulders.  
“I just- we love each other, but sometimes, sometimes it’s easier when we don’t meet up all that often.” Charles gazed at his feet. Erik gave a little tug on the shirt sleeve he’d captured earlier, pulling Charles down and into his lap.  
“Oh?” Erik said, neutrally. It had been a long time since he had been able to observe a family- even longer since he’d actually been part of one. 

Times and customs had changed, since then. He had thought that perhaps all was not entirely happy, in Charles’s family. Now it looked like he might find out more. He waited.  
“It wasn’t, wasn’t always easy growing up.” Charles said quietly. “Mum remarried, after dad died, and-“ he rested his forehead against Erik’s chest for a moment, listening to the thrumming of his lover’s pulse.  
“And?” Erik said, softly, vibration rumbling through his chest and through Charles’s head. He blinked. Erik’s voice was comforting.

“Well, Kurt, he had very clear ideas about how boys and girls were supposed to behave.” Charles said, eventually.  
“And Raven and I we weren’t, we didn’t fit that, often.” He breathed in. Erik clenched his teeth and reminded himself to stay relaxed so that Charles would feel comfortable resting in his arms, where he was safe. Where Erik could take care of him best.  
“He liked- he didn’t hit Raven, much, she was a girl, but...” Charles said, almost inaudibly.  
“But?”  
“He soon realised he could hurt her by hurting me. And he thought I needed toughening up. So…”   
Erik hissed between his teeth. Charles turned his head and looked at him, thoughtfully. Erik gazed back; accepting.

“That’s where my scars you’ve been very carefully not asking me about come from.” Charles said, wryly. “Makes the family get together a little awkward, the guilt, and the needing to show Raven I don’t resent it, and-“  
“You don’t?” Erik said, faintly amazed.  
“How could I resent her?” Charles said, indignantly. “She’s my little sister; she wasn’t doing anything wrong except in Kurt’s head.” He made a face. “Nasty place, that.”  
“Ah.” Erik said, further amazed at the depths of Charles’s forgiving nature. Charles shifted slightly, curling up against Erik. Erik rested his chin on Charles’s head, and thought, deeply.  
“I have a question.” Erik said, after some time had passed. 

Charles made a slightly sleepy enquiring noise. “This Kurt.” Erik said. Charles tensed in his arms. “Is he still around?” Erik said, mildly. His mind began filling with plans and designs.  
“No, Erik.” Charles said, slightly urgently. “Absolutely not- just no.”  
“No, he’s not around, or no-“ Erik began. Charles cut him off.  
“No, he’s dead and no, you aren’t allowed to, to, avenge us- me.” Charles said, firmly. Erik grumbled, wordlessly.  
“I wasn’t planning on killing him.” Charles tilted his face up to kiss Erik along his jaw.  
“Oh?” Erik kissed him back, coaxing Charles's mouth to open to him before he spoke again.

“No.” he said, quietly. “You have scars, so I would give him some of his own, that’s all.” Erik’s fangs glinted at the corners of his mouth as he smiled.  
"Nothing... remarkable." Erik added. calmly. "Just obvious." Charles shivered, partly at the smile, at the reminder that Erik’s occasionally grim and ferocious tendencies also covered a great deal of protectiveness and love… even if it was expressed in, ah, slightly less usual ways. Such as the intent to maim people who had hurt Charles in the past. _Which should not be arousing, damn it._ Charles breathed in, deeply, and shivered again.  
“Cold?” Erik said sliding a hand down to investigate under Charles’s shirt. Delicately, the first fingertip touched skin, and was followed by the others.

“N-no.” Charles said, breathing faster as the sensations increased. “Warming up quite quickly, really.” Erik’s hand kept wandering, insinuating itself under Charles’s clothes further. Charles gasped. Erik kissed him again, more deeply. Charles bit his lip. He shouldn’t let himself get carried away, not when his sister and her boyfriend could arrive at any moment. Softly, Erik kissed the racing pulse in Charles’s throat. He really, really shouldn’t. Erik kissed him again, and he groaned.  
“You sound positively… hot, Charles.” Erik said. The hand was joined by another.  
“And you say _my_ lines are bad.” Charles muttered, arching up in Erik’s lap as one of Erik’s hands wandered over a particularly sensitive spot. Erik chuckled.

A scraping sound came from the front door. Erik whipped his head around to stare as Charles cursed and began to wriggle. Erik kept hold of him absently.  
“Damn it, Erik, let me up!” Charles said, urgently. “I think-“ The door opened, and a man and woman walked in. Erik gave them a cold and unwelcoming stare. Why were these people disturbing valuable Charles-snuggling time, again? He'd only just got him to the point of relaxing and making the odd non-verbal noise.  
“That's my sister.” Charles finished, weakly. “Hello, Raven. Hank.” He said, blushing. Reluctantly, Erik moved his hands to more visible and socially acceptable positions.   
“OH GOD, MY EYES.” Raven said loudly. Hank whipped off his glasses and began to polish them, furiously.

“Raven!” Charles snapped, and bounced up from Erik’s lap hastily. Erik watched him go with a pang of regret, before turning to smile non-toothily at the newcomers. Hank twitched.  
“It’s not as if… we were both fully clothed, Raven!”   
“Exactly.” Raven said, cheerfully, moving her hands to her hips. Charles Erik and Hank all gaped at her. “I’m a simple twenty first century woman. I can’t cope with such canoodlings!”  
“What?” Erik said, as he stood up. It seemed like Charles was not the only Xavier to confuse him.  
“Don’t you know all contemporary relationships should be nothing but sordid and shallow attempts at carnal gratification and nothing more?” she said. Erik saw she was smirking, and relaxed, slightly. “This level of healthy affection is unnatural, I tell you!”

“Raven, have you been listening to religious broadcasting again?” Charles said, wearily.  
“Fox news.” Hank said, simply. “Research.” Charles twitched.  
“I’m so sorry.” He said, simply. “Erik, this is Hank, my sometime roommate-“ Prudently, Erik nodded at Hank, and did not offer his hand for shaking. Given that everyone in the room knew where it had just been, more or less, it felt… unfriendly. Hank nodded back, gratefully.  
“And this is Raven, my sister.” Charles paused. “Raven, Hank, this is Erik, my-“  
“Erik!” Raven said, loudly, and threw herself at him so hard and fast that he nearly staggered on impact. “Thank you so much for rescuing Charles!” She blinked as Erik was not knocked backwards by her assaultive thanks.

“No problem.” Erik said, stoically as she tried to squeeze his ribs, and, thanks to his other nature’s strength, could not. He suppressed a smug smile, just. Raven blinked, before rallying herself.  
“Also?” Raven whispered into his ear, very quickly. “Hurt Charles and I’ll nail you upside down to the nearest wall. By your balls.” Charles looked puzzled. Hank blinked. Raven turned her head, and still clinging to Erik, grinned at them both.  
“I look forwards to you trying.” Erik said, cheerfully, and waited for her to unwind her arms and release him. He was sure it would happen soon.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles gives something, and gets something in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought to myself; have I written enough vampire feeding/sex yet? 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter, it is your answer.

“Erik.” Charles said, later that night.  
“Mmm?” Erik looked up from the book he was reading. Charles leant in the doorway of the bedroom and looked at him, thoughtfully for a moment.  
“Are- are you alright? You didn’t eat much.”  
“I never eat much, Charles; food doesn’t do me as much good as-“ He paused.  
“Blood.” Charles said, quietly. Erik nodded, and continued  
“I’ve seen- and felt- too much hunger to waste food like that.” Charles nodded. His mouth opened, but no words came. Erik set aside his book. He fiddled with the lamp on the nightstand.

“Are your sister and-“  
“I made up the couch. Hank has his own room.” Charles said stiffly, and then flashed Erik a wry grin. “Possibly Hank will use it later; possibly Raven will. I am making every possible effort not to think about- well.” Erik smiled.  
“They _are_ both of age?” he said, mildly. Charles flushed.  
“Well, yes. And Raven can look after herself, and I know where Hank works, but-“ He pushed off the door frame and walked towards Erik.

“But you feel protective.” Erik reached up as Charles approached him, drawing him down into his embrace.  
“Responsible. For both of them.” Charles said, and laughed. “Ridiculous, really.” Erik traced a fingertip across Charles’ brow, down towards his ear.  
“Not ridiculous.” He said, quietly. “Just- you care for them.” Charles smiled again, and ducked his head in an embarrassed nod. Erik slid his fingertip down, under Charles’ chin, tilting his face back into the quiet evening light.  
“You shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are, Charles.” Erik grinned. “Trust me. It never helps.”

“Mmm.” Charles said, eyes darting sideways. Erik sighed and released him.  
“Are you coming to bed?” Erik tried not to sound too expectant, wary of taking anything about Charles for granted. Charles’s crooked smile told him he’d probably failed.  
“Yes. Just-“ He snaked a hand under the pillows and retrieved his T-shirt. He dropped it on the bed and began to wriggle out of his clothes. Entranced, Erik sat back and watched the show.  
“Don’t feel you need to dress up on my behalf.” He said, lightly, as Charles’s trousers hit the floor. Charles began to wrestle with his shirt and sweater.

“What?” he said, as his head emerged, hair tousled beyond all probability.   
“I said.” Erik said, staring at the expanse of palely beautiful skin thus revealed “You don’t need to cover up on my behalf-“  
“I do get cold.” Charles reminded him, but he didn’t put the T-shirt on before he crawled under the covers Erik was sitting on.  
“I’ll keep you warm.” Erik said, and then winced. “Also, clichéd.”  
“Clichés, T-shirts- if it keeps me warm, I’m in favour.” Charles said, smiling.  
“Chilly mortal.” Erik said, laughing. 

“Which reminds me.” Charles said, opening his eyes wide. “When- you said, before, about hunger, and, well- When will you want to, ah, feed again?” Erik shifted, uncomfortably. Why did Charles really want to know?  
“I have- control.” He said, sharply. “Your sister and her friend are safe from me.” Charles’ forehead creased and his mouth turned downwards. Erik tucked his hands under his arms and stared at the door, defensively.  
“Not what I asked.” Charles said, eventually. “It’s just- it’s been over a month, so if, you, um, wanted me- my blood again-“ He faltered, suddenly worried about venturing into difficult waters.

“Oh.” Erik said, slowly.  
“I don’t- It’s safe for me; and it’s something I can do, if you need it, and-“ Charles said.  
“You don’t know it’s safe for you.” Erik said, quickly.  
“You do. Or you’d never have drunk from me.” Charles said, calmly. “And _I trust you._ ” Erik stared at him. A small smile crooked the corner of Charles’ mouth. “Plus, last time? Was pretty fun.” Erik smiled, reluctantly.  
“I’m glad to hear it.” He allowed himself to look at Charles, stretching out his senses. He could almost hear the blood moving through his veins; smell it, fresh and bright and life giving, like Charles himself.

Despite himself, Erik licked his lips. He could not deny he was hungry, for Charles and his blood. Charles’s pupils expanded and darkened so swiftly, it was as if he’d flipped a switch. The atmosphere in the bedroom became charged, electric with appetite and anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, Charles laid himself out above the covers, and stretched. Erik’s smile widened. He dropped his fangs into view, ready for use, as he crouched up on the bed, lounging towards Charles with slow and lethal grace. Charles’s lips parted, invitingly. Erik kissed him, fangs and all. Gently, he began to trail his right hand up and down Charles’s body, tugging thoughtfully at Charles’s boxers.

“Here- do you want-“ Charles bucked up, trying to help. Erik sat back, slightly and shushed him, gently, pressing a hand down on his hips to keep Charles still.  
“Don’t move.” He said softly. “Just… just, let me.” Charles nodded, breathing rapidly. He tilted his head to one side, exposing more of his beautiful pale throat.  
“Do-“ Erik kissed the words back into his mouth, and moved Charles’s head back onto the pillow.  
“I’m not drinking from your throat; I intend you to _survive_ this.” He hissed. “I said. _Don’t. Move._ Erik slid down and reached for Charles’s left arm. Charles handed it into Erik’s control as willingly as the rest of him. Carefully, Erik licked a small patch of skin near the elbow, before biting down, quickly. Charles gasped and shivered at the prickle of bright sensation.

Erik drank.

Charles tasted as sweet and subtle to his mouth as he was in life. Erik wanted to swallow all of him down whole, to bathe in Charles, hide in his bloodstream and stay forever. It took all of his considerable will and self control to stop after only a few mouthfuls.  
“All right?” he asked, anxious.  
“Mmmm.” Charles gave him a bright eyed, dreamy grin. “So far. Don’t… Don’t stop.” He jiggled his arm for emphasis. Erik’s gaze snapped automatically back to the bright blood smeared over the pale skin. He re applied his mouth to the bite, and sucked. Charles hissed, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Erik stopped drinking. He had enough, freely given as it had been. He licked the wound site, encouraging the healing to begin. Erik took a deep breath to steady himself. There should be enough venom in Charles’ system by now. Erik grinned to himself and began to concentrate. Charles flung his head back and let out a gasping cry. Erik put a finger to Charles’s lips, and murmured  
“Shhhh, Liebling. The walls are thin.” Charles glared at him, briefly, before nodded. Erik smirked, and moved to cover his body with his own, folding his fangs away and kissing Charles into silence.

Charles writhed beneath Erik’s heavy, protecting bulk. Erik traced a hand down Charles’ heaving chest before diving down to tug Charles’s cock free of his boxers. The fires of sensation built more slowly than last time. Fleetingly, Charles wondered if perhaps there was a difference of effect that went with a difference in bite site. Then he heard Erik chuckle, and the pleasure flamed so brightly in him he could barely breathe, let alone think. He moaned; and the sound seemed to spark a fire in Erik’s eyes that Charles was almost afraid of. He felt Erik’s hot and dangerous mouth wrap around his straining cock and had to fight not to scream.

“Oh God- Erik, _please_ ” Charles babbled, franticly, before shoving one hand into his own mouth to keep himself quiet, and tangling the fingers of the other in Erik’s hair. Erik slid his mouth off Charles with a wet pop.  
“If you can still talk.” He said, managing to sound only slightly breathless; “I’m not trying hard enough.” He reapplied his mouth with more vigour; and Charles was suddenly unable to make more noise than a faint whimper. He could feel Erik’s smile as the wave of pleasure grew, and grew, becoming a wall, a tsunami that thundered through Charles at every point, choking him into amazed stillness and silence.

Erik kept Charles there, suspended at his most desperate plateau of pleasaurable need, for several long, long heartbeats, before finally tipping over and into his peak. 

Smugly, Erik cleaned Charles up with his tongue, making sure not to waste anything Charles was offering. He waited until Charles’s pulse had slowed to the merely rapid, and his breathing was steady before releasing Charles’ voice and self control back into his lover’s keeping. Charles smiled dazedly up at him, and lay limply on the bed, eyes closed.  
“…” Charles said. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Erik?” he said, huskily.  
“Yes?” Erik smiled at Charles in warm content.  
“Are you- did you-“ Charles said, and gestured, vaguely.  
“Not yet.” Erik said, wryly. “Only one of my appetites for you has been sated.” 

Charles opened one eye.  
“Well.” He rasped. “It’s still early. Give me a few minutes and I’ll see what I can do.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles isn't going out tonight. Raven takes over his Erik-brooding prevention duties. THis is all going to end well...

“Charles, you’re not going out tonight?” Erik said, worriedly. “Are you- do you feel ill?” He moved to take Charles’s pulse and peer into his lover’s eyes. Charles bit his lip. Clearly Erik was worried that last night’s… activities had drained him too much. _Quite literally._ he thought wryly, before turning his attention on the over-protective vampire standing over him. Erik put a hand on his forehead, and appeared to be debating with himself over other health checks. Charles wondered if he should say “Ah.”  
“Honestly. Erik.” Charles said, lightly. “I feel fine. I just have to get this paper finished.” He smiled. Erik did not. 

Raven pouted, and sat up her slouched position next to Hank on the couch.  
“But, but Charles, the nightclub’s only open for the first time tonight.” She said, mock sadly. “Don’t you want to have a nice, bonding experience with your little sister?” Charles shifted, uncomfortably. Erik perched on the arm of his chair.  
“Raven, I’m sure Charles would love to come-“ Hank said, helpfully. “But a paper’s a paper- we can just go by ourselves.”  
“Ok, fine!” Raven said. “But you _owe_ me.” She said to Charles.

Charles frowned, slightly.  
“We’ll be fine, Charles.” Hank said. “I’ll keep an eye on-“  
“I do not need looking after.” Raven said, crisply. She smiled. “Erik, what are you going to do tonight?” Caught off guard, Erik blinked.  
“I- keep Charles company, I suppose.” He caught Charles’s gaze and they both smiled.  
“What.” Raven said, loudly “You’re just going to sit there and stare at him all night?” Erik’s smile widened. Charles turned a little pink.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Edward Cullen.” Raven snorted. Erik’s gaze snapped towards her, in a fierce stare.  
“What? It’s just a joke, jeez.” She said, uncomfortably. Erik’s stare did not soften until Charles put a gentle hand on his knee.  
“These Hollywood vampire stereotypes.” He said, cheerfully. “I do think they’re very-“  
“Wrong.” Erik said, firmly.  
“Unhealthy.” Charles said, as if Erik had said nothing. Raven blinked, and then rallied.  
“Anyway- you should come out with us tonight, as well!” she said, cheerfully.

Erik opened his mouth. Nothing came out, at first.  
“I- ah- That’s not-“ he said, eventually. “I- Charles.” He said a little helplessly. Charles put his hand up to cover his smile. Erik glared at him.  
“You could _help_ me, here.” he muttered.  
“I could.” Charles said. “But I do need to get this paper done, and you know you’re very, very distracting.” Mollified, Erik smiled a little. It was true.  
“That’s settled, then.” Raven said, hugely satisfied. Hank twitched a little. “Oh, come, Hank, it’ll be a bonding experience- you can get to know your best friend’s boyfriend!” 

Erik twitched a little. The Xavier siblings grinned at each other, and Erik took a moment to feel pleased they were getting along more easily that at first; before realising what he had, apparently signed up to. He _hated_ nightclubs. Too loud and too full of _humans_ and…  
“I must admit.” Charles whispered to him. “I know with you along, they’ll both be safe.” “Anyone who wants to cause trouble.” Erik said, equally softly. “Will have to go through me, first.” He smiled. Charles nodded. It was true. Erik was stronger and faster than any human; and remarkably hard to injure or kill without the right equipment. And given that these people were important to Charles, well…  
“So that’s all settled, then.” Raven said, cheerfully. “Good. Great.”

There was a brief pause, before she continued.  
“Anyway, what are you going to be wearing?” Hank blinked at her, before saying, warily “My… usual evening outfit?” Raven smiled, and kissed his cheek.   
“Not you.” She said, brightly. “Him.” She pointed at Erik. “What are you going to wear?” Erik looked stymied.  
“I.” he began, and stopped. “What’s wrong with this?” he gestured at his jeans and button down.” Charles began to shake, slightly. Erik glanced down at him in concern.

“Oh, no.” Raven said. “No, no, no!” She put her head on one side and stared at Erik, thoughtfully. “I mean, the swirly dramatic coat is good, but- you’ll be taking that off at the club-“ Raven mused. Charles put a hand over his face, and snorted.  
“Will I.” Erik said, a little flatly. “You know this for certain?” His eyes narrowed.  
“They do get hot, inside, those kind of places.” Hank said, helpfully. Erik looked at him. Hank shrank back into the couch, hurriedly. Raven tapped her lips, thoughtfully.  
“Right, well, since none of Charles’s things are going to fit you, mister greyhound hips-“ 

Erik looked absolutely outraged. Charles’ snorts became giggles.   
“You are no help at all, Charles.” Erik said, sadly. “None.” Charles waved a hand, helplessly.  
“Well, it’s just on four now.” Raven said, happily. “Plenty of time to go over to your place and go through the wardrobe for something suitable.” Charles stopped giggling, abruptly. Erik raised an eyebrow at him, and turned back to Raven.  
“Is this.” He said, sounding pained. “Absolutely necessary?” Raven grinned, wickedly.  
“Oh, yeah.” She caught her brother’s worried glance. “Don’t worry, Charles, I’ll take good care of him.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

Half an hour after everyone had finally left his apartment, Charles allowed himself to relax. They probably weren’t going to came back for anything forgotten; and that meant Erik was probably safe from Raven’s fondness for hair gel. This time, anyway. He pulled out his notebooks and texts books, and fired up his laptop. Dearly as he loved Raven- and Erik, and even Hank- he was nice to have a little time to himself now and then. Perhaps he should have stuck up more for Erik’ right to not be dragged out into the night and forced to socialise, but the change would probably do him good.

Well. Probably do him good. Raven had been talking enthusiastically about eyeliner; and Erik had been wearing his most rigid poker face; the one he used when he was desperately trying not to show his true feelings about something. Charles would have been worried; except the little tell-tale crease that indicated Erik was broodingly darkly about something- the tragedy of his existence, or the fact that Charles liked pineapple so much, for example- was distinctly missing. So Erik might have been worried or confused about this night out, but he wasn’t actually miserable, as far as Charles could tell.

Charles saved his work and wandered into the kitchen. He needed tea. Tea was his constant study aide; his one refreshment of choice and-  
Charles opened the fridge and swore. The milk was not there. Of course. Raven had used the last of it for the last round of tea. He looked at his tea range. No, herbal teas definitely weren’t going to cut it tonight. He needed the caffeine. Muttering, Charles pulled on his jacket and shoes, before scooping up his wallet and keys. He didn’t think of the taser, or his phone- the bodega on the corner was not more than two minutes walk, if that. Charles slammed his door shut and locked it, before racing down the ill lit stair well. 

As Charles shot on onto the sidewalk, and hurried purposefully towards the shop, he never noticed the dark shadow that peeled off from the corner where it was lurking to follow him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From night club to night action, with Erik, Hank and Raven.
> 
> Not _that_ kind of action. Filthy brained readers!
> 
>  
> 
> (I love you so)

Erik was not certain how he had ended up here. Well, he knew how they’d got to the environs of his apartment, of course- and he’d kept a wary eye out all the way here. Erik’s bolthole was located in a neighbourhood far less safe, for most people, than Charles’s. And he could still remember every second of the time Raven spent examining his wardrobe- such as it was- and making him try on different outfits. He didn’t think he’d ever forget it, however much he wished he could. At least she’d averted her eyes when he took off his pants, although he wasn’t sure Hank’s circulation would ever recover from that intense a blush. Finally, _finally_ , she’d announced herself satisfied with the long and battered boots the last tenant had left behind; a pair of his older jeans and a plain white T shirt. Then of course, Hank’s hair had to be styled; because apparently one of the things people did when they loved each other these days was hand over complete control of their looks to the other person. And Raven had had to try and style Erik’s hair, too, although Erik had put his foot down there extremely firmly. No gel was going anywhere near his head. Ever. 

And no one was going to touch his head, either, apart from Charles. After Schmidt’s attentions; Erik was exceptionally protective of his head. Raven must have caught a glimpse of it in his eyes, because she had subside, sulkily muttering that his hair was too short for fun, anyway. And forbidding him to shave; saying the gingery stubble he’d been cultivating since Raven had first turned up, was just the edge his “look” (whatever it was) needed. Erik sighed and put down his razor. He’d been looking forwards to some time in his own bathroom; given how much time Raven spent in Charles’ bathroom, but apparently it was not to be. Now he was apparently on his way to a nightclub, with friends. How, exactly, had _that_ happened?  
“Come on, come on, don’t dawdle!” Raven said, laughing. Oh, right. Charles. 

And Charle's sister was _very similar_ , at least in terms of how they both managed to get -and keep- Erik exactly where they wanted him.  
“Dawdle?” Erik did not _dawdle._ He prowled, he slunk, he paced, he-  
“Move those feet!” Raven said, cheerfully. “Both of you!” Hank sighed.  
“It’s ok.” He said, very seriously. “She’ll calm down when we get there.” Erik raised an eyebrow. “Probably.” Hank conceded. Erik began to walk faster.  
“That’s what I like to see!” Raven chortled. “Come on Hank, don’t-  
“Lolly-gag?” Erik supplied, helpfully. “Saunter? Dally?” Hank began to move faster.  
“Lolly-gag?” Raven said incredulous. Erik shrugged.  
“I like words.” He said, simply. Raven eyed him for a second longer, spinning so she was facing him, walking backwards. 

Erik eyed the streets about him, and took his hands out of his pockets. Something was… not quite right. He couldn’t quite tell what; but his senses were telling him there was a threat out there. Suddenly, Erik raced forward, and seized Raven’s wrist, dragging her behind him.  
“Hey-!” She said.  
“Stay behind me. Both of you.” Erik said, urgently. Hank started fumbling for his phone. Erik ignored the two safely behind him, turning to face the burly man running towards them with the knife. The blade glistened oddly in the hard street light. He dropped his fangs as the knife-wielder approached. It seemed to slow the other man down.  
“Think this through.” Erik said, calmly. “There’s three of us, one of-“ The stranger attacked, knife swinging wildly. Raven screamed and began searching through her handbag. Erik growled, and flung up an arm to seize the knife-wielder’s arm. He missed, fumbling slightly, and grabbed the knife blade instead. Knife cuts were mere scratches, to Erik. He could heal. If the man got past him, Raven and Hank could not. 

The cold and burning bite of the weapon through his skin was only temporary. Hank dropped his phone and bent to scrabble after it. Blood, thick and dark, began to ooze slowly from the cuts on Erik’s right hand. Erik grunted, and held on. The stranger stared at him and tugged at the knife, futilely. Erik punched out with his left hand; catching the stranger’s gut and jaw, making him stagger, and let go of the knife. Apparently weaponless now, the stranger began to back up.  
“Look. I don’t-” Erik said, and then stopped. Something was- His tongue felt thick and huge in his mouth. Something was wrong. The night was tilting wildly about him, and the cuts on his right hand were _burning_. He staggered forwards a step. The stranger’s grubby face relaxed into a satisfied smile.

“Erik?” Raven said behind him- “What’s-“ She began shouting at the top of her lungs. “HEY! POLICE! FIRE! HELP!” The stranger paused, staring at them, and whipped out something that looked very like a gun. Hank yelped, pressing numbers on his phone feverishly. Erik swayed forwards, fighting to keep himself upright and between the attacker and the vulnerable humans. He could survive a gun shot. Even like this, he could-  
Something impacted on his chest, lightly. Erik looked down, and forced his cloudy eyes to focus long enough to recognise the wire and darts of a taser, just before the agonising pain of the electricity poured through him. He let out a wheezing gasp and dropped to his knees, and then onto his face, convulsing.

Raven finally yanked out her somewhat illegal pepper spray from her bag and let their attacker have both barrels in the face. He cried out, and dropped the taser, stumbling backwards away from Erik’s twitching form. A battered van roared up, sliding door open, and the man threw himself into it, tears still pouring down his face. The van slid round a corner, tyres squealing wildly, and was gone. The whole thing had taken less than five minutes.  
“Call an ambulance!” Raven said, and dropped to Erik’s side. Hank dropped his phone back into his pocket and knelt awkwardly. Carefully, he pulled the taser darts from Erik’s shirt, and threw them to one side.

“Erik, Erik, can you hear me?” he said, urgently. Erik groaned, thickly. He could hear them. He just couldn’t respond. Pain, oily and familiar, lapped around him. The knife… It must have been coated with something.  
“What did he say?” Raven said, somewhere above him.  
“Something about a coat?” Hank said, slowly. “Did you see, he caught that knife with his _bare hands_?” “Made the other guy drop it, it’s right here_”  
“Careful-“ Erik said, slurrily. “Don’t touch-“ Hank’s hands pulled away from him immediately. 

“No-“ Erik wheezed. “Knife. Blade.”  
“Right.” Hank said. “Raven, can you pick it up without touching it? I’ll call the ambulance." Terror shot through Erik. He spasmed, trying to roll over and get away. The concrete benath him was rough and unyielding as he scrabbled against it, trying to stand.  
“No. No hospital!” Raven gasped.  
“Erik, your _teeth-!_ ” She sounded half horrified, half fascinated. Erik realised, in his dazed state, he’d forgotten to retract his fangs.  
“It won’t _work_.” He insisted, dragging himself to his knees. “No doctors. _Please.”_  
“I- your hand-“ Hank said, bewildered. “That’s not… that’s not blood.”

Erik tucked his injured hand against his chest, carefully, and tried to stand. It was not a success. Hank caught him as he fell. The skinny scientist was surprisingly strong. Scientist… Erik fought back a whimper.  
“I called Charles, but he’s not answering.” Raven said. “What do we do?”  
“Charles said Erik didn’t like-“  
“Not. Experiment. Charles knows.” Erik said. _“Please.”_  
“Science or medicine, I honestly thought he was joking.” Hank said, over the top of Erik’s mumblings “It’s alright, Erik; we won’t make you go anywhere you don’t want to.” Erik turned and stared at him. “I promise.” Hank said, more quietly.

“Hank-“ Raven said. Hank shifted his arm, wrapping it around Erik’s shoulders.  
“Get his other side.” Hank said. Raven hurried to help. “I’ve got some first aid and, um training.” Hank didn’t want to remind Erik of his medical training, seeing as he was so set against doctors.  
“I _know_ ” Raven said, irritated, as carefully they almost lifted Erik from his feet, between them. “But- he needs help.”  
“No hospital.” Erik insisted, blurrily. “Got to wash… wash cuts. Recover after.”  
“Ok. Are you sure that’s-” Hank said, gently.  
“Be fine soon.” Erik gasped. “Really.”  
“Ok.” Hank said. “And then you can explain… everything?” Erik nodded. 

“Erik’s apartment is nearby.” Raven said, “And if we’re not going to the hospital, we probably want to get off the street before the police drop by to see what’s going on.”  
“Good plan.” Hank said. “Erik, are you ok with this?”  
“Yes. Don’t call Charles. He’ll worry.” Erik said, even as he felt himself fading toward painless dark.  
“What-“  
“Tell him after he’s written his paper.” Erik said, faintly, and passed out.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember the shaowy person following Charles? Nown we get to find out who sent him.

Charles blinked in the darkness under the dusty hood that had been forced over his head when they snatched him into the van, and tried not to panic. Even after a year of knowing Erik, it was difficult. Absently, he cursed himself for not taking his taser- or his phone- to the corner shop. Erik would have made him, if he'd been there. But then, if Erik had been there, he'd probably have gone for the milk, too, and whoever attacked them would have thought better of it or got eaten alive.

Who had attacked him, though? It hadn't been a run of the mill mugging or an attempt at robbery. Charles had caught a glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, of a rapidly approaching shadow, but then- things had got confused. Someone had – hit him? First in the stomach and then in the head, too quick for Charles to duck or even cry out. He'd gone off his feet, and things had got a little blurry. By the time they were unblurry again, he'd been bundled into some vehicle or other, hood over his head and hands behind his back.

“Come on.” Rough hands pulled him out of the van He staggered on, hands bound behind him and unable to see a thing. Charles stumbled and whoever was leading him cuffed him over the head. Charles bit back a yelp of protest. He swallowed against the nauseous fear that seemed to be crawling from his feet up through his belly to the rest of his body. He stumbled again.   
“Quit it.” a voice said, not unkindly. Male. American- like that was a surprise- and neither very young nor very old. So his kidnapper was just one more of the thousands of people in this city. Great.   
“I can't see where I'm going, what do you expect?” Charles snapped and the unseen man cuffed him again.

Charles breathed in, trying not to suck they questionable fabric over his head into his mouth. He tried to concentrate on his surroundings, work out where he was being led. They had walked over some rough ground, broken concrete and weeds beneath his feet. They the concrete had turned smooth. Now it seemed that they were entering a building of some sort. The sound of their feet, his and his kidnappers', echoed as if the space they were in was very large. Damp, musty air swirled about them.  
“Stairs.” the kidnapper's voice grunted in his ear. Obediently, Charles began to climb. He swallowed, trying to moisten his terror parched mouth.

The stairs seemed to go on for a long time. They creaked and groaned underfoot; as unwilling, Charles thought, vaguely, to have him on them as he was to be here. Charles was having trouble breathing by the time they finally stopped climbing. His knees trembled.  
“Kind a' weak, aintcha?” His kidnapper sneered, and Charles felt a hot rush of- embarrassment? He pushed it away, thinking of Erik; Erik and his air of detachment, Erik and his raised eyebrows. Erik. Charles wished he was here.

“I got'im boss.” The kidnapper said, then, and Charles pulled his wandering mind away from comforting memories to distinctly uncomforting present.  
“Ah?” This voice was older, with a faint trace of an accent. “Very good. Bring him in.” Charles cocked his head, trying to trace the geography that should go with it. Not just American, no. The kidnapper walked him forwards.  
“There is a chair in front of you, young man.” the older voice said. “Nick, please free his arms and help him sit.”

Nick- his kidnapper, presumably, cut the plastic holding Charles' hands behind him, and shoved him, more or less gently into an upright chair.  
“And now, please resecure his hands.” the older voice said. Charles' heart sank. “I'm very sorry, it's just a simple precaution.” the older voice said, as Nick tugged at Charles's arms, tying them to the arms of his seat. Under his hood, Charles blinked. This man- who had presumbly ordered his snatching- was now apologising to him for tying him up? Who did that? Nick pulled the hood off his head and Charles squinted at the sudden flood of light. 

He was in an office of some kind. It looked run down, and dingy. Charles noted that the light came from various battery powered lamps and torches standing around. He wondered if that meant the mains electricity had been switched off; or if his kidnappers has some bizaare fondness for end-of-the-word chic. There were two men in the room, one who Charles guessed was Nick- he was a heavy built burly man in sweat stained jeans and a T-shirt. Further away, a man looked out of the window of the office, pulling aside dusty blinds to see whatever was on the other side of the glass.

Charles glanced down at his hands. Kidnapper Nick had used zip ties to fasten his forearms to the arms of the chair. It wasn't very comfortable. He tried not to shift too much.  
“Thank you Nick, you can go. Please remain on site.”   
“Sure thing, Doctor.” The other man nodded and turned to leave. The man facing the window turned and moved to sit at a battered desk in front of Charles's chair. He smiled, warmly. Charles looked up to see the main kidnapper's face for the first time. 

He wasn't precisely young, but he was not even nearing middle age, either. A strong boned face with a sensual mouth and _very_ frightening blue eyes. Charles had never, so far as he was aware, seen him before.  
“Hello.” he said, mildly. Charles coughed and licked his lips, but didn't say anything in reply.  
“I'm truly sorry for the, ah mode of our acquaintance.” the other man said. “But well, I felt it necessary.” He flicked his fingers, apologetically. Charles' mouth dropped open.  
“Kidnapping me off the streets was _necessary?_ ”

“Firstly, I had to be sure you would listen to me.” the other man said, earnestly.   
“Oh, believe me.” Charles drawled, slowly, trying to hide his rising anger. “I'm all ears.”  
“And secondly.” the other man continued, rising from his seat behind his desk. “I have some bad news for you. About your... friend.” Charles blinked.  
“Who?” The other man threw him an indulgently chiding look.  
“You know who I mean, Mr Xavier. I know you're not stupid. Don't waste our time pretending you are.” Charles gulped.  
“Bad news?” He said, quietly.

“I'm afraid this man, Erik... he's not who you think he is. He's not _what_ you think he is.” The other man said, gravely, as he paced up to loom over Charles. Charles shrank into his seat. It looked like Erik's greatest fear-of being found out as a vampire, as other, had happened. Charles's mind began to race. He had to protect Erik. He _had_ to.  
“I don't- I don't understand.” he offered up, slowly, playing for time. The other man sighed.  
“I've known this... Erik Lensherr for some time, Charles. He's dangerous.”  
“Could get me kidnapped, you mean?” Charles said. The other man chuckled.

“Point.” He said, wryly, and smiled at Charles, genially. “But, when I say he's dangerous, I mean it. He's not human.” Charles bit back the retort that he knew that, and gasped, wide eyed  
“He's.. an Alien?” The other man ruffled his hair, laughing. Charles jerked his head away and tried not to glare.  
“Nothing so impossible.” he said, smoothly. “He has... some genetic quirks; ones he refused- refuses to share with the rest of us mortals.” An angry look darted across his handsome face. Charles flinched. He leant down to Charles' ear and whispered.  
“He drinks human blood, you know.”

“What.” Charles said, between dry lips. Things were starting to add up. He did not like the sum.  
“And he's been alive for a very, very long time.” Charles said nothing; the other man looked impatient. “Really, you're lucky he hasn't tried to feed on you yet.” Charles gulped.  
“F-feed?”  
“You see, I had to get to you quickly, almost as soon as I heard Erik had surfaced again. Before it was too late.”  
“Too late?” Charles croaked. He wanted to keep the other man talking. As long as he was talking, he wasn't... doing whatever would come next.

“For you.” the other man said. “As I said, he;s dangerous. A loner, too.You're the first person Erik seems to have spent a sustained amount of time around for _years._ So, you see, you became necessary to my work; I do hope Nick wasn't too rough.”  
“He punched me twice before throwing me in a van with a bag over my head.” Charles said, simply. The other man sighed.  
“But now to business.” he aid, and wandered back to his desk. “Erik's dangerous,and he inspires a strange kind of... loyalty; I can't work out how. He never would talk to me.”  
“Oh.”  
“And, believe me, I certainly tried.” He chuckled, ruefully. 

Suddenly. Charles realised,he could place the accent. German.A German doctor, who had known Erik... tried to find out about him.  
“Oh my god.” he said, aloud. The other man looked at him, curiously,and smiled.. “You're him.” He frowned. Charles tried not to hyperventilate. “You're Klaus Schmidt.” The smiled dropped from the Doctor's face. “How are you alive?”  
“Hard work. You can call me Sebastian.” he said, curtly. “That's the name I go by, now. Sebastian Shaw.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM!
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy that one. I have a vile plague so updates may be a bit slow for a while...
> 
> *oozes off to find the decongestant and tissues*


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Raven find out more about Erik; Erik gets tackle hugged. These humans are strange.

Erik came round to find himself in his own apartment, with two humans arguing furiously over him.  
“Yes, I know we need to clean it- what with?!” Raven snapped, from far too close to him.  
“He doesn't have any disinfectants except bleach.” Hank said, from further away. Erik opened one eye, carefully. His head appeared to be lying in Raven's lap. He tried to sit up hurriedly, and regretted it when the world faded and swayed away from him. His head hurt, and all his bones protested the sudden movement.  
“Hey, take easy.” Raven said, without any embarrassment. Erik grunted at her. Words were a little challenging right now.  
“Ah, Erik.” Hank said, carefully, from the doorway. “You said you needed to clean the cuts... what with?” Erik tried to get to his feet. Raven pushed him back down onto his couch. He was dimly worried at how easy she found it.  
“Tell Hank, he can get it.” she said, more gently. Erik coughed, dryly.

“... Hot water.” he said, hoarsely. “And sea salt. Two scoops in the big pan. And lavender. In the kitchen.” Hank nodded and disappeared in the direction of the kitchenette. Raven was staring at him. Erik tensed. Attention was... not good.  
“What?” he said, finally. Raven jumped and blinked, shaking her head.  
“Sorry.” she said. “It's just- you weren't frightened, before, of a crazy with a knife- why are you worried about me and Hank now?”  
“You saw.” Erik said, curtly. “You know... about me.” They had listened to him about the ambulance, but still... People who were not Charles had seen him. This wasn't safe. For any of them.  
“That you don't like doctors and you have... funny blood and weird teeth, yeah.” Raven said casually. Erik slapped a hand up over his mouth automatically. 

“They went away after you passed out.” Raven said. “I've not seen that before.” Erik's shoulders hunched. It the kitchenette, Hank dropped something, and cursed.  
“I also- Erik, do you remember what you did?” she said. Erik looked at her blankly. Of course he did. From revealing his strength and his speed to the rest of his inhuman nature.  
“You put yourself between us and the crazy with the knife.” Raven said, patiently. Erik blinked. In that moment, she reminded him very much of her brother. Apart from the fact that she was in no way desirable to Erik,and Charles always was.  
“So?” Of course he did. He was much harder to hurt than humans. It was only logical. Raven rolled her eyes.  
“So...You don't need to be defensive about yourself around people you've rescued.” she said patiently. Erik eyed her sceptically. She sighed and threw up her hands

“Ok, fine, you don't need to be defensive around _us._ I promise.”  
“It's habit.” Erik said, curtly, but he began to relax, just a little. The Xavier siblings were quite remarkable, really. Raven smiled, slightly forcedly.  
“Oh, just one thing- you said “Charles knows”- did Charles know about-” Raven waved her hands vaguely at him. “All this before you started fucking?” Erik blinked, startled. Her gaze had somehow transformed into a glare when Erik wasn't looking.   
“Yes.” He was very glad he could give her the right answer. Discreetly, Hank coughed.  
“Alright, I dissolved the sea salt into the hot water.” He said. “You said lavender?”  
“Oil.” Erik said. “By the burner.” Hank nodded and ducked back into the kitchenette. Erik breathed out. His hand still tingled and stung, and it hadn't healed at all. The flesh arounf the cuts had turned blackish and was puffing up. Not good.

“Here we are.” Hank said, and set the steaming pot by Erik's feet. “Do you need a, a cloth?”  
“Pot scrubber.” Erik caught their startled looks as he lifted the pot to the couch. “Please.” he added, more gently, as he immersed his right hand and wrist as far as they would go into the just boiled water. Raven hissed between her teeth.  
“Doesn't that hurt?” Erik looked at her, steadily, and she flushed.  
“Not as much as leaving it alone would.” Erik said, simply, and grinned at her with all his teeth.  
“Oh, OK. There's the asshole I know and my brother loves.” Raven said, relieved. “I was starting to worry.” 

Hank threw the pot scrubber- a little bundle of coarse wires- at Erik, and he snatched it out of the air. Carefully, Erik began to scrub. Rasping away at the poisoned flesh on his right hand began to hurt, badly. Erik set his teeth and carried on.  
“Jesus.” Raven said. “Erik- that's- I can see _bones._ ” Hank took his glasses off and polished them, frantically.  
“It'll heal.” Erik said. “If it bothers, you, stop watching.” He ducked his head, and went back to making sure all the poison was gone; and closed his mind to the memory of how he had learned to do this. The doctor was dead. Dead and gone and-  
“Hey.” Raven said. “I think you got it all.”  
“I- I can get you more hot water. Or, or bandages.” Hank said, a little sickly. Erik shook his head.

“Not necessary. Look.” Erik drew his now semi-skeletal hand out of the hot water. He flicked a few drops of water off it, and nodded, pleased as the flesh began to regrow over the bones.  
“Holy fuck.” Hank said, startling a crack of laughter out of Raven. Erik grinned, sheepishly. It -healing- could be pretty awesome, at times.  
“Wow.” Raven said. “Did you know that would happen?”  
“I didn't expect him to have poisoned his blade like that, no.” Erik said. “Or the hot water wouldn’t have been necessary.”  
“What- what was on that blade?” Hank said slowly. “What would have happened if- if-”  
“If it had scratched either of you?” Erik said. He shrugged. “Convulsions, death, that sort of thing. Probably.”

“You sound very certain.” Hank said. “Has this-”  
“I am certain. I have seen... something very like this before.” Erik said. “Long ago.” he added when he saw the curiosity in their faces. It didn't seem to be enough. “I don't... I don't talk about it.” Erik said, finally. He wriggled his fingers, all covered now in pink new flesh.  
“I'm sorry.” Raven said. Erik blinked at her, uncertain. “It didn't sound like it was a good thing to learn.”  
“It was not, no.” Erik said, and drew a deep, unsteady breath. He looked down, startled, as Raven insinuated herself under one arm and hugged him, fiercely. After a minute, Erik looked at Hank, for an explanation; Hank merely smiled. 

Erik sighed and waited for Raven to stop hugging him.

“So.” Erik said, quietly, to the top of Raven's head, some time later. “That's done.”  
“Is it?” Hank said “That guy- he was equipped with stuff just for you. They seemed to know what you were. And they got away.” He polished his glasses again.  
“What if they come after you again, and we're not here to help?” Raven said, pulling herself free so she could glare at Erik again.  
“What?”  
“You were nearly out for the count before I pulled my pepper spray.”  
“I- Charles fed me the night before, I would have recovered.” Erik said, defensively. Raven's eyes widened. Hank's jaw dropped.  
“Fed you what?” he said, bewildered, and. Erik paused. Oh. He'd skipped that part of his nature. No wonder he'd been so accepted by them.

“His blood, of course.” he said, impatiently. There was silence. “He offered it!” he added, hastily. There was still more silence. Erik shifted, warily, waiting for the screaming and running to begin.  
“Erik.” Hank said, carefully. “Are you; um, are you a, a-”  
“Vampire?” Erik said, irritably. He wished they'd get it over with. “Yes.” Raven's eyes narrowed.  
“Yes, Charles knows that, too.” he said, hastily.  
“Oh my.” Hank said. He leant forwards, fascinated in a way that Erik dreaded. “How long...”  
“Longer than you've been alive.” Erik said, harshly. Everything seemed quite cold, suddenly.  
“Hank.” Raven said, quietly.

“I was going to ask, How long has Charles known?” Hank said, gently. Erik blinked again.  
“Oh, I um, fell into his bathtub after a car accident about six months ago.” Erik said, vaguely. He was not sure now whether to dread a scientific inquisition or more horror.  
“Hank!” Raven snapped. “Remember what Charles said. Don't trigger him.” So they were afraid of him. Erik nodded to himself. It was to be expected. He was inhuman, dangerous; and now they knew.  
“I won't hurt you.” Erik said, half hopefully. Raven's hands closed over his- which were trembling again, he noticed, almost absently.  
“I don't want us to hurt _you._ ” she said, fiercely. “You saved our lives- saved Charles' too- you shouldn't be hurt again.” Hank nodded in agreement. 

Erik stared at her.  
“I'm hard to hurt.” he reminded her. Raven snorted, running one finger over his still tender right hand.  
“No, you just heal quickly. That's completely different.” He had no answer to that.  
“You are so like your brother.” he said, finally. Hank spluttered. Raven's head came up, and there was a dangerous light in her eyes.  
“How so?”  
“He's ridiculously accepting, too.” Erik said, simply. Raven's gaze softened. Hank grinned. “And so are you, Hank McCoy.” he added sternly.  
“I'm curious.” Hank said. “What kind of a reaction do you usually get if you reveal yourself?”  
“ _Usually_ I don't” Erik said. “The screaming and the running and the stabbing or being set on fire gets kind of...” he trailed off, as he realised his audience were staring in horrified sympathy. 

“I just don't.” he mumbled, at last. There was a pause.

“Anyway; hadn't we better get back to Charles' place?” Raven said, into the silence. “We'll be safer there- they came after you where _you_ live, didn't they?” Hank nodded. Erik swallowed, transfixed with a nameless anxiety. _Charles._  
“Yes- and I- we need to make sure he's safe too. Did he return your call?”Hank shook his head.   
“I'll call him again.” he said, quietly.  
“No, but I'm sure Charles is fine.” Raven said, hopefully. “He's probably sunk into a writing coma. Again.”  
“He's not answering his phone.” Hank said. “I'll text him.”  
“Let's go.” Erik said, and stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, doubtless you will all be glad to know my face has stopped leaking, even if my ears are still humming. Thankyou for all your good wishes.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is very creepy. Charles finds out more about his plans. It is not fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERS: Groping and sexual threats/coercion by Henchman Nick. Shaw being creepy and crazy. Forced drug taking.

Charles stared, wide eyed, at Erik’s nightmare. Schmidt. Shaw. Whatever his name was. Whatever he actually _was_ for that matter; for if he was the same man Erik had spoken of, he should be in his nineties, at least, and he looked to be in his forties, at most. The man looked… unhappy. Charles swallowed down a wash of terror.  
“Erik is getting sloppy in his old age.” Schmidt-Shaw said, dryly. “I thought I had at least taught him the benefits of... discretion.” Charles swallowed nervously, and didn’t say anything. The doctor looked impatient.  
“Still, I suppose you’re pretty enough to confuse any lonely old man, even one who is also a monster.” He said, and smiled. It was not pleasant.

“Erik is not a monster.” Charles said, quietly. He was fairly certain that whatever purpose he’d been snatched for was not going to be enjoyable; he hoped it might at least be survivable. However, Erik was not a monster. He had to say that; aloud; to challenge his kidnapper who was Erik’s tormentor, even if he dared say nothing else.   
“He’s an immortal who drinks _blood._ He’s not human.” Shaw snapped, and wheeled away to start pacing up and down the ruined office, sidestepping the storm lanterns and battery lamps absently.  
“Would you say a special diet was the secret of your own state of preservation?” Charles said, dryly. “Or did it take drugs?” 

“You should not confuse a life of _scientific_ progress and practice with the filthy habits of _beasts_ , my dear boy.” Shaw waved a finger at Charles, gently remonstrating. “I was able to learn much; despite Erik’s attempts to hinder me; about the secrets of life and extending it.” He smiled. Charles felt such a wash of hatred he felt sick; that this man could try and drag a scientific cloak over the tortures he had put Erik through. The nightmares he’d left him with. And he called Erik a beast, a monster. Had he never looked in the mirror?  
“And why are you asking?” Shaw said. “Can it be that, like me, you are… interested in living longer than a mortal span? Is that why you tolerate the beast in your life?” He chuckled, and walked a little faster.

“Erik is a good friend.” Charles said, carefully. “He rescued me from my attacker, before.”  
“Ah?” Shaw raised an eyebrow.  
“Someone drugged my drink, he chased them off. That’s how we met.” Charles said, shortly.  
“I’m sure that’s the story he wants you to believe.” Shaw said, smiling kindly. “He always possessed a low, brute cunning.” Charles gaped, strangling the angry retorts he wanted to make.  
“And you should not hope for rescue here.” Shaw said, brightly. There was a noise at the door. “I have sent out my other team after Erik; you’ll be re-united soon.” 

Shaw paused from pacing to frown at the doorway. Charles couldn’t turn to look; but he heard low muttering; Nick, probably, the First Kidnapper. Charles bit his lip; now Erik was in more danger, and Charles couldn’t warn him. Erik still thought Schmidt was dead; when he had snatched Charles- why?- to put pressure on Erik? For all Erik’s grumpy demeanour and anti social armour, he was worryingly easy to hurt or influence, Charles knew.  
“Do I have to organise _everything?_ ” Shaw grumped, and snapped; “Watch him.” Footsteps moved toward Charles; and he tried not to shrink into himself.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Nick said, happily, into Charles’s ear. Charles fought down a shudder. “The Doc’ll be back soon, and we can maybe see about untying you.”  
“W-what’s happening?” Charles said, trying to sound helpless and frightened. He didn’t like how easy it was.  
“Oh, the team after the big one, they’re lost.” Nick said, sliding his fingers through Charles’s hair. “He’ll be gone for ages; don’t you worry about him.” Charles arched his neck, straining to get as far away from those fumbling fingers as he could. He twisted round, trying to look Nick in the eye.  
“Why- why is he doing this?” Charles said, weakly. Nick smirked at him and shifted round, dragging a chair up so they could sit knee to knee. The strain eased in Charles’ neck, if not his nerves.

Charles thought hard. He had to know what Shaw’s employees thought they were doing; clearly they had to know it was criminal, what with the assault, and the kidnapping and so on, but did they know precisely what Erik was? Why Shaw wanted him?  
“The Doc is crazy, sweetheart.” The bigger man said, expansively. “Just crazy.” He waved his hands about to show just how crazy that was. One of them ended up on Charles’ thigh.  
“So-so-“ Charles’ throat was as dry as his mouth.  
“He talks, all the time, about eternal life, and vampires, and shit. Tries experiments and I don’t know what all om of the people we find for him.” Nick said, half laughing. The hand on Charles’ leg crept higher. Charles jerked back. Nick laughed again.

“If-if he’s crazy, why do you-“ Charles said, hastily. Anything to stop think about Nicks’ hands and where they were touching him.  
“He pays like a crazy, too.” Nick said. “And sometimes… well, sometimes there’s, other compensations.” Charles stared at him. Nick moved his hand, pointedly. Charles flinched.  
“Like rape, you mean?” he said, disgustedly. Nick clenched his hand bruising tight on Charles, before pushing his chair back, abruptly.  
“Don’t… don’t be like that, sweetheart.” Nick said. “I can help you.”  
“You were the one who snatched me!” Charles snapped.  
“That was just business.” Nick said, easing towards Charles again. 

“This could be personal, you know?” He smiled. Charles stared at him, hypnotised by his revulsion. Nick’s smile faded.  
“You should be nice to me.” Nick added, before he bent and kissed Charles. He tried to jerk his head away, but, Nick’s hands were strong holding Charles’ head still as Nick’s tongue forced it’s way in. Charles braced himself, and bit down. Hard. Nick squealed, and jerked his head back. He backhanded Charles so hard his head bounced off the back of the chair. The world blurred. Charles hung on to consciousness by the skin of his teeth, and waited.  
“I tried being nice.” Nick said, angrily. “Now, just you wait, I’m gonna-“  
“Nick.” Shaw said, from the doorway. “How many times to I have to tell you?”

He sounded angry; but also… amused? Charles kept his eyes shut.  
“I tell you and I tell you; leave the subjects alone unless I give you leave.” Shaw said, pulling up Charles’ eyelids, squinting at his pupils. Charles let out a pained groan. Let them think him more hurt than he was. He let his head loll on his neck.  
“But Doc-!” Nick said. Shaw rounded on him, snarling viciously.  
“I will not put up with, or pay for insubordinate, sloppy, workers who damage my experiments!” Nick fell back several steps, and mumbled something that presumably was an apology. “Go on.” Shaw said. “Earn your money. Patrol. We don’t want any more children turning up looking for more windows to smash.” Nick’s footsteps moved away. 

Charles tried not to flinch as Shaw put a hand on his throat; taking his pulse.  
“Mr Xavier.” Shaw said, quietly. “I know you are awake.” Charles opened his eyes, reluctantly, finding himself still in the grimy office and surrounded by monsters.  
“I will not apologise for Nick.” Shaw said, fumbling for something on the floor by Charles’ feet. Charles said nothing. “I know the master’s nature is reflected in the nature of his servants.” Shaw said, straightening again. “And believe me, it saddens me to think that I am now reduced to such shoddy tools. But sacrifices must be made in the name of progress.” Charles snorted. Shaw smiled, ruefully. 

The dim light glinted off the scalpel in his hand. Charles stiffened in terror.  
“What- what is that?” he asked, shakily. Shaw looked at him, reprovingly.  
“You can see it is a scalpel, Charles.” His tone shifted “You’re right handed, correct?” He sounded horribly matter of fact. Charles’ eyes opened wide.  
“Yes. No.” he croaked out. “I- what are you-“  
“Oh, calm down there, young man.” Shaw said, lightly. “I’m not about to cut you with this.” Charles did not relax. Shaw sighed, patiently, before moving to slit the sleeve of Charles’ button down shirt.

Frantically, Charles began to struggle against his bonds. The chair rocked, violently. Shaw tutted, and then used his knee to pin Charles to the chair and the chair to the floor. He tightened the zip ties holding Charles’s arm fixed against the arm of the chair, until Charles could not move his left arm at all. Shaw was incredibly strong, almost as strong as-  
“Erik.” Charles, said, hopelessly, as Shaw swabbed the crook of his elbow, and tapped the vein.  
“He’ll be here soon.” Shaw said, softly. “I’m doing you both a favour, really.” Charles gaped at him. Shaw smiled at him, and reached into his pocket.

He pulled out a large syringe, loaded with a pale, straw coloured fluid. Charles had no idea what it was, but he knew he didn’t want it anywhere near him.  
“Don’t- please-“ he began to beg. Shaw tapped the barrel of the syringe and expelled a little fluid, to make sure there was no air.  
“Now, Mr Xavier.” He said, scoldingly. “Gather your courage.” Charles bit back a whimper as the needle found a home in his flesh. Shaw depressed the plunger. “Sacrifices must be made; for progress to occur.” He said, bracingly. Charles said nothing. The fluid felt very cold as it entered his arm.  
“I intend not to waste yours.” Shaw added, and looked at his watch. “Or the monster.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw and Charles make a call; Shaw finds he needs to adjust his plans, Nick needs castrating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Attempted rape; ending in a cliff hanger. Nick is up to his old tricks again.
> 
>  
> 
> Don't worry: He'll regret it.

Charles’ arm tingled. It had turned warm and numb shortly after Shaw had forced the drugs into him; and now it was tingling. Afraid of what it might mean, Charles kept very still. He didn’t want the doctor paying attention to him. He didn’t want that at all. Something told him that that would be a very dangerous thing, the doctor’s attention. So he slumped in his chair, trying not to drool in his lap, whilst Schmidt-Shaw shuffled through papers and made notes. Nick was nowhere to be seen. Charles worried about Erik. Erik who had no idea his old enemy was alive. Erik who had gone out for a night of lurking in corners in noisy bars protecting Charles’s sister and her boyfriend. Erik. His eyes watered.

Time stretched, spinning out slowly and unevenly. Sometimes it seemed as if he’d been tied to the chair for a million years; sometimes it felt as if he’d only just sat down. Breathing seemed more difficult, and less necessary; although when he stopped altogether, Charles’s automatic reflexes kicked in before the doctor was able to take his pulse. His bones began to ache, dully. Charles’s ears began to play tricks on him; he could hear a low muttering or whispering that sounded almost like a crowd of people, talking. He couldn’t hear what “they” were saying, but something about the noise- the endless rise and fall of it all- made Charles think he really didn’t want to.

“Don’t worry.” Shaw said, airily. “The pain passes soon; and then we can really get started.”  
“Wha-“ Charles’s tongue felt huge and clumsy in his mouth. “Wha’s ‘appening t’ me?” His tongue was as bloated and awkward as the thoughts he was trying to enunciate. Shaw smiled; looking like a jovial death’s head, and came closer. Charles pressed himself back against the chair. The whispering voices faded out; washed away by Charles’s rising terror.  
“A change is as good as a feast, I’m told.” Shaw was far too close, his hands on Charles’ face, examining his eyes.  
“Don’t…” Charles said, weakly. “Don’t hurt… him.” 

Shaw tilted Charles’s head to one side, thoughtfully, and ignored his attempts at talking. Charles gave up. He submitted to having his head moved about; he didn’t really have a choice. After some hard to measure amount of time, Shaw sighed, sharply, and went back to his desk. He looked at his watch. The whispering started again. Charles closed his eyes and sagged, trying not to hear. The noise in his head shifted into a ringtone. Charles spent a few minutes distracted by that; until he realised by listening to Schmidt-Shaw talking to no one that there actually had been a phone call. Schmidt was talking English, and he seemed… angry.

The shadows started to move when he wasn’t looking at them directly. Charles shivered. Shaw’s anger seemed to ooze out into the room, like cold, tainted mud. Time slipped away from him again, and he was left sliding down, down, into a jangling fuzziness that muffled his senses and stopped his thoughts. A single breath seemed to take him a year. He drifted, uncomfortably numb and aching. The whispering, humming noise rose to a crowded roar and subsided into ringing, empty white silence. His thoughts uncongealed, and began to flow like water; like a stream again. Charles blinked. Time began to pass more swiftly. The grey fuzziness receded, as did the numbness.

“Here, call him.” Shaw held out a phone. Charles stared at it.  
“What?” he tried to sound as confused and helpless as possible. Shaw sighed.  
“I should not have begun so swiftly. Call Erik. Now.” He snapped. Charles gaped. Somehow he knew the snatch team Shaw had dispatched to capture Erik had failed. He tried to think quickly. He was _not_ going to let Shaw use him against Erik. But Erik needed to be warned who was after him.  
“Erik doesn’t have a phone.” Charles said, dumbly. Shaw rolled his eyes.  
“I know that. He has yours, tonight. I know. You will speak to him.”  
“I won’t let you hurt him!” Charles said, desperately, as he watched Shaw dial the number. 

Shaw laughed, easily. Charles looked at him and was surprised by the depth of hatred he felt. The was a pause as the cell rang, and then Shaw cursed. Charles fought against an instinctive cringe as his captor’s frustration rolled around the room.  
“He’s not picking up.” Shaw said. He held the phone up to Charles’s ear. “Leave him a message. Be convincing.” He said, silkily. Charles gulped. He had to warn Erik; but he doubted he’d be able to say much. He drew a deep breath and tried to shake his mind free of the haze fear and whatever-it-was Shaw had injected him with had caused in his mind. It wasn’t easy.

Charles licked his lips, and began to speak. He tried to sound calm and unthreatened.  
“Erik.” Charles said, rapidly. “It’s Shaw. Schmidt. Don’t came near, don’t do anything he tells you, don’t-“ Calmly, Shaw backhanded him. Charles cried out, Shaw hit him again, calmly, and the world blurred away from him. His ears rang in a more familiar fashion. Schmidt-Shaw spoke in rapid German into the cell, following up Charles’s comments with more of his own. Charles hoped Erik never thought to listen to Charles’s phone. He hoped that he was already safe, and well, in another city, hopefully with Raven and Hank in tow. Charles hoped, if Erik did listen to the message, he wouldn’t be taken in by Shaw’s blandishments and manoeuvrings. 

“Boss?” Nick said, in the doorway. Charles concentrated on getting his breath back. He was still dizzy. Whatever Shaw had injected him with; it was still working away.  
“Your idiot colleagues failed; I’m surprised the beast didn’t kill them.”  
“Huh.” Nick said. “I warned ‘em.”  
“Clearly not well enough.” Shaw sounded impatient. “We must adapt.”  
“Yeah.” There was a pause. “So what’s the plan now?” Shaw sighed again.  
“Well, we have his weakness. I’ve told him to come here; we can subdue him easily enough when the others get here.”  
“What if- what if he goes to the police about this?” Nick said, uneasy. Shaw laughed.

“Oh, Erik is smart enough to know that the protection of the law is not for monsters. He won’t talk; in case someone finds out what he is.” He said, smoothly. Charles’ hands curled into fists. He knew why Erik was like that.   
“If you say so, boss.” Nick said, doubtfully.  
“I do. Now. I have arrangements to make. Watch him; call me if he stops breathing or if he starts to change.” Shaw said. Nick made no response that Charles could hear. “And be careful with him.” Shaw added, on his way out of the door. “He’s the ace up our sleeve.”  
“Sure thing, Doc.” Nick said, walking past the chair Charles slumped in. “Sure thing.”

Charles felt Shaw recede as he left the room. He was distracted by the sudden warmth. Nick stood in front of him. Charles kept his eyes shut as Nick’s hand drifted across his face and traced out his jaw.  
“Come on, sweetheart.” Nick crooned, and pinched Charles’s cheek. “Let’s see those eyes of yours.” He pinched harder; and, when Charles didn’t react, slapped him, hard. Charles groaned.  
“Guess you’re really out of it.” Nick said, thoughtfully, and began fumbling in his pocket. Every hair on the back of Charles’s neck stood up. Nick found what he was looking for and grunted in satisfaction. Charles struggled to remain limp and apparently unconscious as Nick began to fiddle with his zipties.

When Nick cut the second zip tie holding Charles to the chair, he let himself slip slowly off it on to the floor. He tried to hide his wince from the pain of the impact.  
“Shit.” Nick said, mildly, as he bent to cut Charles’s ankles free. “Doc’s juice really hit you hard. Lightweight. Gotta wake you up some.” He began to drag Charles towards the desk. Charles let himself come alive, struggling wildly, as soon as he was sure Nick was off guard.   
“Get off me, you bastard!” He yelled. It was not as much of a surprise as he’d hoped. Nick laughed, and wrapped his hands around Charles’s throat, grimly. 

Charles kicked and punched and tried to tear at Nick’s hands, scratching, but Nick’s grip was unyielding. Charles tried to gasp for air; but Nick kept choking him until his knees gave out. And the world was reduced to a fading away swirl again.  
“You’re only making it harder for yourself, sweetheart.” Nick said fondly, as he draped Charles over the desk. An iron hard grip on his neck pinned Charles in place, despite his increasingly vague struggles. Nick started fumbling with his belt.  
“You keep trying. It’s ok.” He panted. “I like it better if they’ve still got some fight in them…”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw catches up with Charles. Charles reacts. To Shaw, his reaction is unexpected. To the reader, it probably shouldn't be.

Charles kicked out, backwards. Nick laughed when none of his blows connected. He shifted one of his hands from Charles’s neck to his waist. Charles shouted; and then there was a confused moment or violent struggle. The hands holding Charles in place vanished. Charles lurched away, sprawling almost full length on the floor before catching himself. He scrambled away, before turning to see Shaw snap Nick’s neck as deftly as if the burly man had been a, a, chicken, or some other easily slaughtered farmyard animal.  
“I am sorry about that, Mr Xavier.” Shaw said. Charles took a wary step backwards. “I did warn him not to-“

“Interfere with your experimental subjects; yes, I _heard_ you.” Charles said. His eyes blurred. Shaw took a careful step towards him. Charles took two steps back.  
“Now, Charles.” Shaw said, affably enough, but his eyes were cold and calculating; and Charles did not like the light in them. “Do be reasonable.” Charles kept backing away as Shaw advanced. “You’ve nowhere to go. You have no idea what’s happening to you.” Shaw said, as Charles backed up against the far door. He began at grope for the door handle behind him.  
“Whose fault is that?” Charles spat, hoping to distract his captor. Shaw smiled.  
“I didn’t say _I_ didn’t know what was happening to you.” He said, smugly. 

“I can help you, Charles. I really can.” He probably meant to sound warm, and coaxing, but Charles could not forget the ice behind his eyes, or the fear and hurt he’d left in Erik. Erik, who was protective, and endlessly kind, and grumpy; and too afraid of discovery to even speak to most people, even now, after so many years believing Shaw dead. Charles wished the man was dead; dead and decayed and gone. The violence of his thoughts startled him. The door opened behind Charles almost soundlessly. He stayed still for one long moment, never taking his eyes from Shaw’s face. Shaw took another step forward. Charles’s nerve broke, and he bolted through the door, slamming it shut behind him as Schmidt-Shaw roared in rage. Charles _ran._

He ran through deserted, empty offices; no furniture, no fire escapes, no easily opened windows in sight.  
“Who _built_ this place?” he muttered to himself. “Why did none of you bastards leave the bloody _floor maps_ up?”  
“Now, do be sensible.” Shaw called. Charles’s lips curled into a silent snarl. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, Mr Xavier. But I will if I must.” His voice sounded as if he was coming closer; Charles ran on; trying to be as noiseless as possible. The panic of Nick’s attack appeared to be working in his favour; his limbs were no longer rubbery from restriction movement; but strong and light; full of adrenalin. He felt as if he could run forever. Always assuming there was somewhere to run _to_.

Charles hurled himself through one door, dashed down the short corridor, and ran on through the next set of doors. They were heavy swing doors, larger than the other doors he’d been slamming behind him as he fled Shaw’s steady, relentless pursuit; and perhaps that should have warned him. He ran through them, and nearly fell over the waist high barrier that was all that stood between this floor and a vast, yawning cavern. The impact of the guard rail into his belly knocked a little sense back into Charles. The realisation that there was no other way down, or out- the only door onto this galleried level was the one he’d run through- completed it. Charles moved away from the doors, and stared down to what had probably been the factory floor, once upon a time.

Now it looked like an escape from a dystopic apocalypse film, or a crazed music video. The far-away floor of scarred concrete had gashes and dents where the heavy machinery had been taken away. All that was left were the trash and dirt of years. And a forest, a colonnade of metal poles, weird, thin things clawing up from the floor into the dusty air. Maybe they’d strung power cords from them, or something. There were windows up in this gallery, but they were in thin ventilator-type strips, opaque and filthy grey with dust and grime. If the floor level below the gallery was the actual ground level outside the building, jumping down to it was out of the question entirely; unless Charles chose death over Shaw; and he wasn’t quite ready to give up and escape so completely just yet.

Charles began to edge along the gallery, trying to keep out of sight of the large doors, wondering if- when- Shaw was going to come through them. Idly, Charles wondered if Schmidt-Shaw had a gun; or was planning to rely on his own clearly immense strength to try to subdue Charles when he caught up with him. Not that Charles planned on being subdued easily; but clearly Shaw had taken more than a lengthy life of youthfulness from his mad-scientist past. Charles stumbled, slightly, as his foot caught on something. He looked down to see what was making the floor uneven. 

When he saw what it was, he smiled. 

Charles swallowed. He huddled by the double doors, plastering himself flat against the wall. He held his breath and tried to listen for any sound of Shaw’s approach over the dull humming of the noise in his head and the rushing of his blood through his ears. Then he had to remind himself to breathe again. Nervously, he hefted the length of piping- probably from scaffolding; it was too small and clean to have fallen from the ducting, and waited. And _hoped_.

The was a small, regular noise that swiftly turned itself into firm, regular footsteps. Charles bit back another snarl. Shaw wasn’t even _chasing_ him; he was so certain that he would be able to reach Charles before he escaped; and control him. _Control him._  
“Not happening.” He almost muttered, before he caught himself up. Shaw was too close. He might hear. Charles was suddenly irrationally afraid that Shaw would sense him, somehow, smell his sweat, or hear his heartbeat, and be prepared. He steeled himself to calmness and listened to the footsteps get louder.

One of the double doors eased open.

“Charles?” Shaw said, calmly. “Where are you running to?” Charles stopped breathing. For a terrible moment he thought Shaw had spotted him, but the man kept talking, staring out over the gallery. He was assuming Charles was cowering, hidden in a far corner. They both knew there was no way out apart from back the way they had come.  
“Really, Charles.” Shaw said, as he shouldered through the doors. “There’s no point to this- I will always be able to find you, now. And we are wasting valuable data- I need to take some m-“

Charles hit him over the head with the pipe. 

He was startled at the sound of the impact of pipe on skull- a wet, dull noise. Charles winced- he had never intended to hit so hard. Shaw lurched forwards, making a high, startled noise in his throat. He grabbed at Charles; who dodged away, dropping the pipe. Shaw stumbled over it, and fell against the waist high barrier, hard. There was a cracking noise, and part of the wooden railings simply… fell away. The pieces fell endlessly, before finally splintering on the concrete floor, far below. Shaw teetered on the brink for a long, long moment, and then followed them, flailing wildly against the inevitable as he crashed down.

The shriek Shaw made as he was impaled by gravity on several of the poles was high and inhuman. It was echoed by a thunder burst of pain that drove Charles to his knees, vomiting and shuddering for a long moment. He crawled to the gap in the barrier and looked down. Spread out, like some grotesque butterfly, Shaw hung in mid air. He had been struck by at least two poles. One had crumpled, bending sideways under him. The other had pierced his stomach or torso. The crumpled one was supporting part of his weight, after ripping through his flank and spattering blood everywhere. Charles vomited again as he realised that Shaw was still falling in slow motion, the pole gradually sliding through him under the weight of his own body.

The pain was everywhere. Charles thought his head was going to burst. He was terrified, in mortal agony. Suddenly certain he was dying; that whatever Shaw had put in him was poisonous, Charles crawled to the double doors, weeping. Shaw shouted after him. Charles didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen. Shaw was angry; angry and scared and in pain. But he couldn’t move. It was going to have to be enough. Once through the doors, he was able to stumble to his feet. If he retraced his steps, maybe, he could get out the way he had been brought in. Maybe he could actually get away, before Shaw got off his poles and came after him.

Slowly, Charles staggered out through the offices he’d run through, past the chair he’d been tied to, and made it to the head of the stairs. He stood there, for a long, long moment, swaying. He had to leave the building before the other team got here, and found out about Nick and Shaw. But it seemed very hard, suddenly. Someone was making whimpering sounds, gasping and moaning. The whispering in his head had risen to a roar. The pain flared, brightly, incredibly, and Charles found he was on his knees again, cold, shaking and feeling defiled and strange to himself. The pain subsided, finally. Charles drew in a shaking breath and tried to force himself down stairs. Noises outside sounded like a car or a van drawing up. Charles shuddered, and fell down the last three steps. He scrambled up, and looked around. If he hid until whoever it was went away, maybe… maybe he could get out here. Get to Erik. 

Charles wanted to see Erik again, very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. This seems to be a safely exciting place to stop for a while. I am off to the Sci-Fi Weekender Convention in exotic Pwllheli. So no updates, of anything, likely, for about a week. Brace yourselves!
> 
> I'm looking forwards to the Star Trek Q &A. And Brian Blessed. And Peter Davidson. And....


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Raven bicker; Hank drives.

Erik was still trying to prevent Raven and Hank coming with him into the doctor’s trap when they arrived at the address. The car journey; in Hank’s clapped-out old motor, had not been fun. It had been full of shouting and arguments; about the directions, about the one way system, and, of course about what was going to happen when they got to the mad doctor’s lair. Erik and Raven had very different ways of thinking, apparently.  
“I can’t protect you _and_ Charles!” Erik snapped, desperately, again.  
“That’s fine.” Raven said, tightly. “You protect him and we’ll protect you.” Erik stopped himself from snarling by sheer force of will.

Hank hunched over the steering wheel and focused all of his attention on driving. Erik let him. He could drive, but he hadn’t done so for a decade or so, and modern cars, twentieth century cars, were not his strong spot.  
“It’s Schmidt.” Erik said, eventually, wondering how, exactly, he was going to get it through this thick-skulled young mortal’s head that this was too dangerous for her. “You can’t protect me- no one can-“  
“I have my pepper spray and Hank has a knife.” Raven said. “And you’re… you.” Erik was briefly pleased Raven at least acknowledged his inhuman qualities as resources.

“A _carving_ knife, oh God- we’re all going to be arrested and die.” Hank muttered. Erik and Raven ignored him.  
“Look.” Raven said. “You’re afraid of this guy.” Erik nodded, jerkily. He didn’t tell her how afraid he was. He could barely function properly, let alone put into words what he was feeling. A deep, bone chilling certainty that there would be only pain and suffering and no death ahead for him gripped Erik to the core. He was too frightened for the numb comfort of apathy or despair, yet. He only hoped he could at least rescue Charles. It might count as some form of redemption, somehow, if he could save Charles, despite all the other victims’ of Shaw’s obsessions with Erik and his immortality. 

“But you’re still going into this trap.” Raven said. It wasn’t quite a question.  
“He has Charles.” Erik said, simply. “My fault; he’d never-“  
“How is what a crazy Nazi does your fault?” Hank blurted, turning his head to stare.   
“Hands on the wheel; eyes on the road!” Raven snapped. A brief silence followed, before Raven spoke again.  
“You do know this is a trap; right, Erik?” she said, quietly. Erik nodded, wearily. “I mean- he’s not going to let Charles walk out of there when you turn up, whatever he says. He can’t risk him going to the police- like we should have done.”

“No police.” Erik said. “We don’t have time for those clodhoppers.” Raven rolled her eyes. “And yes, I know it is a trap. Schmidt won’t have changed that much, however he’s managed to stay alive this long.” Erik said. A trap baited with an innocent victim. Schmidt’s favourite game. Erik repressed the shiver that ran through him at the thought.  
“So why-“  
“So I owe it to Charles to get him out of this.” Erik said, steadily, and swallowed. “Schmidt was always… _fascinated_ by what I could stand; he’s easily distracted by my- by me.” 

Erik swallowed again.“God.” Hank said, horrified. Erik ignored him. Cold nausea filled him, and he knew if he was human; he’d have been sweating in mortal terror over what he was about to do. But; if Charles was not already hurt; if he could still run- Erik was going to make sure he got a chance of doing so. Whatever it took.  
“If I’m there, Charles has a chance.” Erik said, harshly and breathed in, slowly, praying that the others did not notice his trembling hands. He could do this. He could. If Charles got away, it would be alright. A fair exchange. For Charles, Erik could do anything. Anything at all. For Charles, he could walk back into that hell; lie down on the medical table again.   
“Yeah.” Raven said, softly. “But maybe you deserve a chance, too.” Erik glanced at her, and shrugged.

“Deserve a chance?” he said, harshly, disbelievingly. How could she be so certain? Who knew what a creature like himself _deserved?_ Ertik was a monster; a blood drinker. If he had left Charles alone, he would be safe now. Schmidt would never have been able to use him as bait if Erik hadn’t- didn’t love him. As ever, Erik should have been stronger, should have been able to stay away.  
“What she’s trying to say, is, maybe we can be that chance for you. For both of you.” Hank said, as he brought the car to a gentle halt for a red light. “You said yourself; he won’t be expecting us.” Erik nodded.  
“I usually live alone.” He said. “He knew that then; too.”

“Was he really a Nazi?” Raven said, curiously. Erik shut his eyes against the bright, ugly memories.  
“Ideologically? I don’t… think so. Not really.” He said, slowly. “He just liked- he liked the, ah, opportunities and resources the Nazis gave him.”  
“The human subjects?” Hank said, as the car accelerated again.  
“And me.” Erik said, quietly. He carefully did not shake.  
“You’re human.” Raven said, fiercely. Erik dropped his fangs, opened his mouth and raised an eyebrow in response. Raven slapped his arm, lightly.  
“You’re a _person_. A good person. A person Charles loves.” she said, still fierce. “So stop it with this skin-of-a-killer schtick.”

Erik blinked. _What_ had Raven just said? It made no sense to him, at all.  
“I’ve never-“  
“It’s a quote from _Twilight._ ” Hank said. “Not that I’ve read it. Or seen it.”  
“Oh. Hollywood.” Erik said, dismissively. Raven cackled, briefly.  
“Anyway.” She said, sobering up. “You’re wasting energy trying to tell Hank or me not to come.” Erik sighed. “We’re coming, and you can’t stop up; and we’re going to _help._ ”  
“I just- if you get hurt; Charles will-“ Erik said, awkwardly.  
“Yeah, and you think if _you_ get hurt, Charles will react differently?” Raven said. Erik blinked again. He had not thought of that.

“I- I-“ he stammered.  
“Raven, ease up.” Hank said, calmly. “You’re scared, you’re angry- we all are- you don’t have to take it out Erik.” Raven leant forwards to glare at him. “Or me.” Hank said, hastily. Despite himself, Erik had to smile. They really were amazing. Even if he couold not make them stay where it was safe.  
“Ok, you can stop grinning now.” Raven said. “I think we’re here.”   
“The GPS says we are, anyway.” Hank said, glaring at it. “Wherever here is.” Erik drew in a deep breath. It made him feel better; so he did it again.  
“Don’t start hyperventilating now.” Raven said. “We have to plan. You think he’s in the creepy collapsing warehouse or the really creepy post apocalypse office block?” 

“Open the door.” Erik said, to Hank. Hank eyed him, curiously, but did as he asked. Erik breathed in through his nose, and concentrated. The cool night air brought him its various messages. Smells of the city, of decay and age. Dust, damp, and rot, of course, but under that, human smells. He cocked his head, listening over Ravens’ murmurings. The buildings were almost utterly silent before him; no one appeared to be alive or moving in them. Strange. Erik sniffed again, and held up a hand for silence. Blood hit his senses first, followed by sickness, fear, and- Charles. He could smell Charles. When he deciphered the series of almost noiseless sounds that accompanied Charles’ scent, Erik jerked open his car door roughly, and pelted out.  
“What-“ Hank said, as he scrambled to follow. Raven grabbed her pepper spray.

“I can hear him. Charles is crying.” Erik said, and raced on, towards the faint noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iiiiiiiii'm back from the Weekender! It was awesome. And wonderful. I met people. Yes. Some of them were famous. Some of them weren't. I was in costume.
> 
> I'm going to sleep now.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik finds Charles; Raven and Hank help.

Charles staggered, dropping to his knees to crawl further into the space behind the stairs. Trash had piled up or been placed there; and he pushed himself into it, dumbly trying to burrow away from the light. Charles needed the dark now. Dark, and still, and quiet; he needed them all. The muttering had died down, replaced by a ringing silence that made his head hurt. Charles whimpered. The world was drifting away from him in lazy swirls; nothing made sense and everything still hurt. He curled up, wrapping his arms around his head. It didn’t help. Tears began to squeeze out of his tightly closed eyes, and Charles bit back a sob. He huddled into himself and shivered. More sobs forced their way out of him, even as he tried to stay quiet. 

Then, some indeterminate time later; Charles heard noises. He heard shouts. Running feet. Some banging noises. He lay very still and kept his eyes tight shut. He had to be very quiet; or they’d find him, and catch him, and it would hurt. He was no longer quite sure who “they” were; but he was sure about the pain. Footsteps echoed in the stairwell, and Charles tensed. Someone was coming closer.  
“Charles?” He held his breath, wary. He knew that voice. Somehow. He tried to think past the pain. It was hard. The buzzing headache seemed to have spread through his entire body.  
“Charles, I know you can hear me. It’s all right. I promise, everything will be alright.” 

The voice was very gentle, now. Almost coaxing. It sounded nice. Charles wondered, vaguely if he could trust the speaker. He thought he could; but what if he was wrong?   
“Charles?” The speaker had ducked under the stairs now, and was coming closer. The whispering was back; a low droning roar that made it hard to think. Charles shook his head, and heard the paper around him rustle. His head hurt.  
“Don’t.” he said, quickly, hunching further into the dubious protection of the corner where the floor met the stairs. The footsteps stopped, instantly.  
“Don’t what, Charles?” He still sounded gentle, conforting. Charles refused to be tricked by it.

“D-don’t come any closer.” His voice sounded hoarse and wavery.  
“It’s me- it’s Erik.” He sounded –hurt? –worried? Charles blinked. Despite the noise in his head; he could hear the feelings in the voice, this Erik’s feelings. It was… odd. Who was Erik? He knew the name; but he couldn’t quite-  
“What did he do to you, that bastard?” Charles nearly cringed at the anger in the other man, before he realised it was not directed at him.  
“I’m sorry.” He said, quickly. “I- sorry.” The other man made a choked noise.  
“Can you come out of there?” he said, eventually. Charles shook his head. He wasn’t actually sure he could move much, anymore.  
“I-it’s safer here.” Charles said, when he realised that his head movements were probably hard to see under a pile of rubbish.

“Then can I come in?” he said, gently. Charles closed his eyes and shook. The trash he was lying in rattled faintly. The other man seemed to take this for assent; because he crawled in after Charles, only stopping when he could touch his feet. Charles tensed further, in anticipation of pain, or, or _something._ Charles waited, but the other man didn’t grab him, hurt him or try to drag him out of hiding. He simply waited, calmly.  
“Charles.” He said again. “Do you know where you are? Who I am?”  
“N-no.” Charles said, apologetically. “My head- he gave me an injection.”  
“I’m your friend. I’m Erik.” he said, again. “I’m your- Erik. I’m not going to hurt you.” He faltered. 

Charles listened to the unhappy certainty in his voice, and, slowly, believed.  
“Erik?” he said, and uncurled, slightly. It was so hard to _think._  
“I’m here.” Erik put a hand on his ankle, protectively. It was nice- reassuring. Charles opened his eyes, and turned his head. He saw a tall, lean man, awkwardly doubled over to get into the tiny space Charles was hiding in. A pale man with scruffy reddish hair and stubble, peered at Charles with grey-green, worried eyes. Some of Charles’s memories began to make their way through the pounding pain in his head.  
“Erik?” he said, slowly. “I- is that you?” The piercing eyes softened.

“It’s me.” His voice was gentle again. Charles gulped a breath, shuddering. Erik kept talking. “Your sister and Hank are here too.”  
“Erik- you have to go.” Charles said, urgently. “Schmidt, Shaw- he fell, but he wasn’t dead. You have, to, have- don’t let him catch you.” Erik didn’t move, except to open his mouth.  
“Please, Erik, run.” Charles begged. “I- I can’t-“ Erik made a choked noise, and then, unable to restrain himself further, dragged Charles into his arms. Charles yelped in surprise.  
“We came here to rescue you; we’re not leaving without you.” Erik snarled, wonderfully possessive and protective, into Charles’s ear. Charles wound his own arms around Erik and for a long moment they both held each other close. 

“You said Schmidt fell?” Erik said, at last. “Who’s Shaw?”  
“Schmidt.” Charles said. “He- it was in the gallery; he, he fell, and-“ The gruesome image of Shaw's impaled body flashed before his eyes again, and he shook at the memory of that terrible pain. Erik held him through it.  
“All right.” Erik said. “Anyone else in the building?”  
“Shaw killed him.” Charles said, quietly. “He said, he s-said something about more people coming back, b-but-“  
“We’d better get out of here then.” Erik said. “Can you walk?” Charles flinched away from the idea of leaving his safe corner; of facing the world again. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” Erik shuffled backwards, and lifted Charles out of his trash pile. Charles stayed very still. Erik grunted as if he’d been punched. He re positioned his arms around Charles’s shoulders and under his knees, and began walking. Charles clung to him, burying his head in Erik’s chest.  
“YOU FOUND HIM!” someone screeched in his ear. Charles tried to stop clinging quite so desperately; but Erik simply said  
“Evidently.” And kept walking.  
“R-raven?”  
“Charles!” Raven sobbed, hanging onto his arm. “What did they _do_ to you?”

“Herr Doktor gave him an injection.” Erik said. “I don’t know of what.”  
“Charles?” That was Hank. Charles nodded, and kept his face hidden.  
“Too much…” he mumbled. Erik’s arms gripped him more tightly.  
“I’m putting you into Hank’s car.” Erik said, softly. “All right?”  
“Ok.” Charles husked. His mouth and throat were dryer than dust. Erik laid him down, carefully, and Charles breathed in the familiar scent of motor il, ancient cigarette smoke and legumes that Hank’s car gave off. He shuffld his shoulders against the worn padding that was holding him upright.

“Here.” Raven held out a bottle of water, eyes darting nervously from Charles to their surroundings. “Erik, I don’t like this- where’s-“  
“I’ll find out.” Erik said, calmly. “You and Hank- stay with him. If I’m not out in”- he checked his watch- “Fifteen minutes, get out of here.”  
Charles tried to hold onto Erik’s shirt; but Erik untangled his fingers gently.  
“I’ll come back, Charles. I promise.”  
“No-“ Charles tried to protest, feebly. Erik was safe. Was safety. He didn’t want him to go. He didn’t want him to see the place, or work out what Charles had done.

If Shaw-Schmidt was not alive; that made Charles a murderer. A real monster. He didn’t want anyone to know that. And if he wasn’t dead, then Erik was walking back into danger, and it was his fault. Charles whimpered, faintly, at the dilemma. Erik’s face hardened, even as his voice remained gentle.  
“Charles. I have to search the site. We have to know what he thought he was doing.” Erik rose from crouching in front of Charles and stalked off towards the office block again. Charles watched him leave desolately.

“Here.” Raven took pity on him and opened the water bottle in two swift yanks. She steadied Charles trembling grip on the bottle and helped him drink. The water was kind on his throat. Charles realised he really was very thirsty.  
“Slowly, or he’ll throw up.” Hank warned her. “Charles; may I take your pulse?”  
“G-go ahead.” Charles said. Hank put a careful hand on Charles’s wrist. The sense of Hank that came through the touch- precise, gentle, focused- helped Charles steady himself against the sudden lurch of Erik’s absence.

“Why is your shirtsleeve all cut up?” Raven said. Charles glanced over at her.  
“Injection.” He said, quietly. “I- it was yellow.” Raven put a hand on his shoulder.   
“Can you look at my finger, please, Charles?” Hank said. Charles obeyed.   
“As soon as it’s safe, I am going to hug you. I am going to hug you _so hard_.” Raven said, fiercely. The warmth of her love for him stopped Charles shivering; even in the night air’s chill.  
“Charles do you know-“ Hank started.  
Charles drew in a deep breath and named the president, the day, and his approximate location.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Hank said, mildly startled.  
“Aren’t you going to shine a little light in his eyes?” Raven said. Hank shook his head, but didn’t explain.  
“Did anyone hit you?” Hank said, his gentle tone belying the deep, protective rage beneath. Charles blinked.  
“Ah- some slapping. Possibly some punches.” He said, hesitantly. “There might have been some- Nick- he tried to, to touch me.” Hank growled. “Shaw broke his neck.” Charles said, hastily.   
“Good.” Hank snapped. Charles flinched. A genuinely angry Hank was an incredibly rare event but also incredibly scary.  
“Hank.” Raven said, softly.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Shaw have a conversation. It goes... poorly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all remember how Charles left Shaw impaled on two metal posts? Well, he's still there, and this gets a little gruesome, because Erik is a little vexed, and has some questions for him. Be ye warned.

Erik left Raven and Hank fussing over Charles and walked into the trap, now hopefully sprung. Charles sat huddled in the front seat of the car, leaning sideways against the carseat, feet trailing over the car doorwell, and said nothing, still near tears and trembling. Erik felt a swell of fury as he took in the bruises, the torn clothes, and Charles’s continued disorientation. Schmidt. Doktor Schmidt had done this; had snatched Charles out of his safe life, his safe house, and hurt him, reduced him to this, to get at Erik. It had to be stopped. Erik waved off Raven’s shouts, her offering of the pepper spray; but he took Hank’s kitchen knife. It was clean, sharp, and entirely unremarkable. Dependanble; like Hank himself.

Erik's strides were firm and steady, and his breath was even. Charles was no longer held by the Herr Doktor’s men; good. Charles thought Schmidt was injured, possibly even dead or dying; better. But Charles was very definitely not all right. Herr Doktor had done something to him, injected him with something. Erik had seen the injection site, as Charles’ bruised arm poked out of the slit and flapping sleeve of his shirt. Charles’ scent had changed, a little, and it was not simply that he smelled hurt and tired and afraid, this was something… other. Erik had to find out what had been done to Charles. He had to.

Stretching out his senses as far as he could, Erik listened and sniffed. There was no much to hear. Silence, really, apart from some faint, irregular scratching he attributed to vermin. Scent was another matter. Erik could filter out of the usual night smells of the city, some deeply unpleasant scents, of blood, decay, tears, rot, rats. But nothing he hadn’t smelt before He heard Charles’s stifled sobs. He could smell blood, fresh blood, but it wasn’t Charles’, and it did not smell tasty; more like the bleeder was suffering from gangrene or some other form of rot. He wrinkled his nose as he began to climb the stairs, following Charles’ hours-old scent trail with some difficulty. The board creaked under his feet. Erik cursed, and tried to walk more quietly. No point in giving his location away for free. In the old office at the top of the stairs, Erik found a dead man; and a briefcase full of medical notes and equipment. 

An empty syringe lay abandoned on the floor. Erik squatted and sniffed at it. It smelt peculiar, a little like blood and tears. Erik dropped it into his pocket, wrapping it in newspaper, and moved on. The corpse was uninformative. A burly man, belt undone and neck snapped, not dead more than an hour or so, as far as Erik could tell. He left the man and took the case with him. The floor beyond the room with the dead man in seemed dangerous, so he went back down the stairs and headed for the rest of the building on the ground floor. He had the information. Now he was hunting- yes, hunting- the man who’d hurt Charles. It was odd; how Erik felt. In his nightmares, which were worse before he met Charles, Erik had dreamed that Schmidt was back, or that he was back in his control and they have been the worst dreams; the ones where he can’t even scream or cry, let alone run. 

Yet now, even after hearing that hated, unforgettable voice on Charles’s voicemail, even knowing that Herr Doktor is alive, and well, and not helpless with age, Erik is too angry to be slowed by his fear. Erik’s fear, his anger have transformed into an almost serene determination to _end this._ The nauseating terror Erik felt has become fuel for the fire of his will; nothing more. Now that he knows Charles is; well, not unhurt, but recoverable, Erik can go on, make the next logical move. Schmidt must die. Charles- and Erik, and, quite probably, the world- are not safe while he lives. Having been forced to endure the spectre of losing Charles, not to the world, or to time, but to thieves, murderers, Erik will not countenance leaving a chance for their instigator to find other ways to hurt them. He _will not._

Erik spotted large doors up ahead. The corridor he was in was very wide, wide enough for a small fork lift, perhaps, and marked by scrapes and dints of heavy things frequently carried through it. The stench of tainted blood was heaviest lading towards those doors. Trash and dust lay everywhere; blown in by the wind, or dragged in by explorers; the homeless, or curious kids, or teens looking for a place to party, maybe. This seemed to be the factory floor; although God alone knew what had been manufactured here, before the place was shut and abandoned to the slow decay Erik could sense all around. He slowed, put the briefcase down and edged into the vaulted cavernous room beyond as silently and slowly as he could. 

The light filtered in slowly from filthy panes high above. Erik carried no torch; he had had no trouble seeing in low light since before electricity had been introduced; but he was having trouble understanding what he was looking at. Not who, though. Schmidt, Shaw, whatever names the Doktor was using for himself; the man Erik hated and feared like no other- appeared to be hovering, at first, stretching out on his back and floating almost serenely perhaps a foot off the floor. Erik blinked. The blood reek was incredibly strong.  
“Erik. I knew- you would- come.” His nightmare rasped, and a sudden comprehension flooded Erik, even as the pinned and bleeding man kept talking.  
“Every man- recognises- his- superior-“

“You were never my superior.” Erik said, moving cautiously towards him. It could still be a trap. Incredibly, Schmidt chuckled.  
“In controlling you, monsterous thing that you are, I proved myself stronger-“  
“Yes.” Erik snapped. “You and fifty guards and welded on chains, perhaps.” Herr Doktor gave a wheezy laugh. Erik prowled closer. The Doktor slid a little further down on the steel bars impaling him, closer to the floor. His feet, in their expensive shoes, dangled grotesquely.  
“What did you do to Charles?” Erik said, and moved so that Schmidt could see him. The other’s eyes widened, briefly.  
“Oh, nothing much, I assure–Ahhh!” He broke off into gurgled screams as Erik shook him.  
“I will know if you lie.” Erik reminded him.  
“A little- help.” Schmidt said, at last.

“You want me to help you?” Erik said, flatly. A trace of impatience showed on the impaled man’s face.  
“I gave- your Charles- a little help.” He said. “Started him down- the trail _I_ blazed.”  
“Explain.” Erik said, barely controlling his tone away from an outright snarl.  
“What, like this?” Incredibly, Schmidt smirked. “Get me off these things, and I can talk more.” Erik shook his head. “Still afraid- of me?” he sneered, raggedly amused. Erik shook him again. While Schmidt screamed, he moved up and squatted by his head, which was still half a foot from the floor.  
“Now why,” Erik said, gently, into his ear “Should I be afraid of a trapped and dying rat, like you?” Schmidt’s eyes flickered. “And I do think you are dying, finally.” Erik said. “Whatever you’ve made of yourself, even if you were as I am, these-“ His hands traced the poles and the wounds they had, and were still, inflicting, almost gently. “These are still fatal, unless you manage to pry yourself off them before you bleed out.” The was a pause, broken only by the dying man’s wet gasps.

“Aren’t they?” Erik prodded.  
“Yes.” The answer came reluctantly.  
“So.” Erik said. “I ask again: What did you do Charles?”  
“I- the serum.” Schmidt’s eyes drifted shut, briefly. “Gave him a dose of my serum.”  
“WHAT?”  
“ I take it he’s begun to change, seeing as you’re asking me this.”  
“What- how do I reverse it?” Erik said, strangling down less immediate questions. Schmidt laughed, chokingly.  
“My dear monster.” He said, amused again. “ _You_ can’t.”  
“Could anyone?” Erik said, not bothering to disguise his urgency.  
“Ah, now. I could say I could, if you helped me, but- You’ve always been able to tell when I lie, haven’t you?”

Erik drew out the knife, angling it until the light it reflected hit Schmidt in the face, and made him blink.  
“Yes.” He said, at last. “I have.”  
“I tell you, I could never had made the serum, my breakthrough, without your input, Erik.” Schmidt said. Erik gaped at him. “So your Charles, what he’s becoming, what I’ve done- you have their part in that.”  
“Shut up.” Schmidt ignored him, and kept babbling.  
“But I know what’s happening to him, I do, and even if it’s not reversible, I can help- I know what he needs, now-“ Erik laid a hand over the still moving mouth.  
“You are never coming close to Charles again.” he said, softly. Schmidt’s mouth moved against his palm; Erik ignored him. 

He trailed the knife lightly over the other man’s face, gently, never breaking the skin.  
“Never; you understand?” he said and Schmidt nodded. Erik took his hand away. And the knife.  
“But- my knowledge- you need- you can’t deny the world what I-“  
“I can.” Erik said, beyond fear, beyond rage, now. “I will. What you do, have done- no one needs that. I’ll burn it all. Destroy it. Nothing will be left. _Nothing_.”  
“But-“ Erik laid the knife against the Doktor’s throat. He pressed the tip of the knife into Schmidt’s trachea, and pushed home, swiftly. Blood pattered out; Erik ignored it, wriggling the knife around until Schmidt was no longer able to talk, or even scream, destroying the vocal folds and cords as best as he could. Schmidt wheezed in agony. 

Erik sat back on his heels, considering. Once he had dreamed of doing this; of digging up the corpse and slashing its throat, breaking the bones and shredding the body of his tormentor. Those dreams had seemed sweet to him, once. Now he was actually doing it, he didn’t feel happy, or vengeful, he felt… tired. Empty.

Time to finish it, then.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> So, Shaw is dead. Charles is safe- even if he is changing. By my watch that makes it _comfort o' clock!_
> 
>  
> 
> Regular readers may note I am very, ah, fond of hurt comfort. I'm not sorry.

By the time Erik came out of the building, the fire was spreading fast. Hank stared at the briefcase Erik was carrying, and at the sudden absence of Erik’s jacket, but he asked no questions about them. A gust of smoke swirled around Erik’s feet, and he tried not to flinch. He hated the smell of smoke, even on a good day.  
“Is anyone…?” Hank said, low voiced, as Raven tried to coax Charles into drinking more water. Erik shook his head.  
“Both dead.” He said, curtly. “Just cleaning up.” Hank blinked.  
“Ah. Right then.” He said, slowly. Erik gave him a thin smile. Hank returned it, warily.  
“Let’s go.” Erik said, shortly. “Before the fire engines get here.”  
“They’ll be ages.” Raven said, emerging from the back of the car where she’d stashed her brother. “To this part of town, anyway.”  
“We need to leave. Go sit next to Hank.” 

Erik spoke firmly, and moved to check on Charles, who was slumped in the back seat with his eyes shut, sallow skinned and shivering. Raven glared for a moment, before she folded her mouth shut in a thin line in a way that made Erik faintly uneasy, before stalking into the front passenger seat. Erik glanced at Hank, who jumped, slightly and began fumbling for his keys. Erik slid in next to Charles, fastened his seat belt and laid a hand on Charles’ face. Charles’s eyes flicked open, and when he saw Erik he smiled, faintly, turning his face towards Erik’s hand, but he said nothing. Erik let him breathe, and drew in a thankful sigh of his own and the car got underway, finally. Charles remained curled up and withdrawn all the way home. He clung to Erik, fiercely, and answered questions with monosyllabic responses, but he didn’t seem to want to talk.

Raven and Hank exchanged glances with Erik, before to mutually deciding to leave the odd couple in the back of the car to their own devices. Erik ignored them, focusing all his attention- and his senses- on Charles. Charles, who had been hurt, by Schmidt- by Shaw. By this man Nick, too. Carefully, Erik sniffed. Charles smelt tired, sad, of dirt and dankness, of fear, and sweat and tears and blood. But underlying these surface smells of environment and feeling on a person, there was always a deeper one; is this case the smell of Charles himself. Erik knew it well. In the short time- a bare handful of hours; less than a day- Charles’ base scent appeared to have altered. What had that crazy old man _done_ to him?

They were all back in Charles’ apartment, door locked, before Erik was able to ask that question aloud. Charles flinched.  
“I don’t know.” He said, dully. “He gave me an injection- it was yellowy, plae, but I don’t know what-“  
“This needle?” Erik said, pulling it from his pocket. Charles’s eyes widened.  
“I- I- Yes. Maybe.” He started shivering again.  
“I guess suggesting a hospital visit wouldn’t be-“ Erik growled at Hank, wordlessly. Hank’s mouth snapped shut. Raven’s mouth dropped open.  
“No.” Charles said, faintly, and then, again, more strongly. “No hospitals.” He stood, stiffly, and walked to the window. He gazed out at the blackness beyond.  
“Do you need to eat?” Raven said, softly “You didn’t-“ Charles made a choking noise, and stumbled to the bathroom; where he began to retch, painfully.

“Sorry.” Charles said; when he was able. “Sorry. But no, I don’t-” he heaved again “Think food would be a good idea right n-“ Erik folded himself down and began to rub Charles’ tense back, gently.  
“Hank; start the bath running.” Erik said, quietly. “Raven does Charles have any mint or mint teabags?” They stared at him. “Please.” Erik added, and looked meaningfully from Charles, crouched and still heaving bile into the toilet, to them and to the door. Hank jerked into action, suddenly, nodding as he scrabbled at the taps, and then backed out of the door, pulling Raven with him. Erik filled a tooth glass with water and checked the temperature of the water filling the bath.  
“Sorry.” Charles mumbled again.

“Don’t.” Erik said, fiercely. “Don’t apologise when it’s my fault.” Charles lifted his face from the toilet to stare at him.  
“How is my nausea your fault?” he said startled. Erik flushed, and shrugged, sheepishly, which made a corner of Charles’ mouth curl upwards, briefly.  
“I was thinking of the whole… thing.” Erik said. “How hot do you want it?”  
“What?”  
“The bath.” Erik said. “How hot?”   
“Not… not very.” Charles said, slowly. “Wouldn’t a shower work?” Erik shrugged again, as he began to turn off the hot tap.  
“Showers get the dirt off you.” He said, swirling his hand through the water. “Baths get you _clean.”_ Charles tilted his head to one side, thoughtfully. 

“When I… when I got away from him, the first time; a bath was all I could think about.” Erik said, almost to himself. He handed the tooth glass full of water to Charles, abruptly. “Sip it slowly.”  
Charles rinsed and spat, for the first mouthful, and then sipped. His stomach grumbled, but appeared to be willing to take the water, on a trial basis, at least.  
“Thank you.” Erik smiled, faintly. Charles stood, slowly, and began to fumble with his jeans. His fingers were not cooperative, and neither were the jeans.  
“Let me?” Erik said. Charles nodded, surrendering the suddenly difficult process of getting naked willingly.

Erik unsnapped the button on Charles’ jeans and unzipped them, before carefully lifting Charles’ filthy and tattered button-down off over his head, followed by his undershirt. He drew the shirtsleeves over Charles’s wrists with slow and infinite gentleness. Charles refused to let himself cry as Erik helped him step out of his jeans and skimmed his boxers down over his hips with as tender care as if Charles was the most infinitely precious thing Erik would ever touch. Erik would be upset; if he saw tears rolling down his face, and Charles didn’t want to upset him; not over something as intimate and fragile as being undressed by the man he loved.  
“Is it cool enough?” Erik said, quietly.

Charles tested the water, dipping one hand in, carefully.  
“Just perfect.” Erik held his arm out, steady as an iron bar fixed into marble, for Charles to cling to as he wobbled into the bath and sat down, gratefully.  
“Oh, this is _good_.” Charles said, leaning back with his eyes closed.  
“Shall- do you want the door locked or unlocked?” Erik said, after a pause. Charles opened one eye.  
“What?” Erik twitched.  
“The door. If you- need to feel- safe.” He said, jerkily. Charles smiled, faintly.  
“Erik.” he said, gently. “You’re here. Of course I feel safe.” Erik smiled, helpless, in the face of Charles’s certainty, even after he had been through so much.

He grabbed the soap, and the sponge, and lathered up.  
“Lean forwards.” He said. Charles shifted, obediently, the water swirling around him, and sighed as Erik set to work. Erik was watchful, as he steadily covered Charles with soap, and rinsed him off. He noted every bruise, every scrape or scratch, and hoped it meant another century in torment for whatever Schimdt-Shaw had left of his soul. Charles hissed, slightly, as Erik wiped a wet flannel over the injection site. The skin around the needle prick hole was discoloured, swollen and angry; as if Charles had been stung or bitten by something venomous rather than a syringe.   
“Sorry.” Erik said, and reached for the soap again. Charles’s eyes opened. He stared at his arm, and then at Erik

“Erik.” he said, worriedly. “Do you know what- what he was planning to do; what-“  
“No.” Erik said, reluctantly, wishing he could erase the fear in Charles’ eyes. “He- before; he injected people with my blood, sometimes.” Charles stiffened. “But that’s not what he did to you.” Erik said, quickly, thinking of Charles’ description. “You said it was pale, right?” Erik’s blood was much darker and thicker than a living human’s would be.  
“Straw coloured. But; he might have mixed it with something else. How- how can you tell?” Charles said, breathing rapidly. “God knows what it was, he could have- it could have been anything. Why not v-v-vampire blood?” He heard the stutter, and stopped, swallowing.

“You’re still alive.” Erik said, expressionlessly. Charles flinched, and put out a hand. “The others- they” He squeezed Charles’ offered hand in his own, and swallowed. “It wasn’t good, what happened to them. But it was quick.” Charles saw the expression on Erik’s face; pain and self-disgust, and decided he would not ask for more details.  
“I’m sorry-“ he began, waveringly. “I didn’t-“ Erik’s look softened, and his gaze returned to Charles from whenever it had been fixed in the past.  
“Don’t.” Erik said, unsteadily. “Don’t apologise.” They held on to each other, silently, for a long moment.

“Come on.” Erik said, eventually. “The water is getting cold. Into bed with you; and we can make Hank read the papers I took.”  
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Charles said. “Hank knows...” he trailed off. “That’s good.” Erik leant forwards and pulled the plug ot. As the water ran away, Charles began to shiver. Erik did not bother with simply lending an arm this time. He picked up a towel, and wrapped Charles in it before lifting him out of the tub and into his arms.  
“Um...” Charles said. Erik ignored him. He simply flipped the towel to preserve Charles’s modesty, or Hank and Raven’s eyesight, and stalked out of the bathroom, towards the bedroom.  
“You need rest.” Erik said, as they went through the door, past Raven’s startled face. “We’ll all talk later.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short; Hank and Erik try to combine their knowledge of Science! Vampires! and Charles! Rave does something useful; if off stage.

“Erik.” Hank said cautiously. “About Charles-“  
“He’s sleeping. Raven is watching him.” Erik snapped. “Let him be.”  
“I’m surprised you let her.” Hank said, softly. “It was kind-“  
“Not kind.” Erik said, curtly. “Practical. He kept talking about the noises, in his head. She’d only make it worse, if she wasn’t with him. And Charles is happy when she’s happy, too.” Hank smiled, faintly, and Erik felt a rush of weary anger. Charles had been hurt. Why was his scientist friend _smiling_ about it?  
“I wanted to ask you a question or so. If you can answer, it might help me understand.” Hank said, cautiously. “I’m looking at that maniac’s papers and-“.  
“Ask.” Erik swallowed down nausea.

“I’m sorry.” Hank said. “I’m trying to work out what he did to Charles, because I can’t see what he thought he was trying to do. The formulas listed here; they just don’t make sense.” He handed papers from the stolen briefcase over to Erik, who took them reluctantly.   
“The Herr Doktor was always interested in prolonging life and strength. It seems as if he had succeeded, given how young he was before I- when he took Charles.” Erik said, as the too-familiar hand writing stared back at him.  
“Using vampires?” Hank said, curiously.  
“One vampire. Yes. Oh, he wanted to be- to make people stronger, faster, maybe more obedient also-“

“Like the super-serum was supposed to, here.” Hank said, remembering old news reels and comic books he’d read as a child.  
“As I have said.” Hank nodded. “But he didn’t want to pay the, the _price._  
“Price?” Hank asked, softly.  
“The sun burns me, badly. If I- it could kill.” Erik said, swallowing down his fear at giving away his weaknesses. This was for Charles. “I must drink blood weekly. There are- there are poisons that affect me-”  
“Saw those.” Hank said, ruefully. Erik nodded.  
“And, of course, humans fear and dread the very idea of one with my nature.” He added, after a moment’s thought. “Most humans, anyway. You three seem different.” 

Hank tilted his head in recognition.  
“How- I’m sorry if this is difficult- but how did you become-?”  
“Like this?” Erik said. “It is not so hard.” He breathed in, and thought for a moment.   
“One must be bitten; more than once, if possible. The one who fed from you must feed again, and, finally, as one is dying, return the debt with blood from their own veins; which must be drunk.” Hank began scribbling notes.  
“Would he have known that?” Erik swallowed and continued.  
“Most of that knowledge comes from being in his hands.” Erik said, harshly.  
“I’m sorry.” Hank said. Erik shook his head.  
“You have nothing to apologise for. Tell me what you have learned.” Hank blinked.

“Charles has a fever; he’s confused and disorientated- that’s the negative symptoms. He’s also- I don’t know if you noticed this- either healing faster or he’s more resilient.”  
“What?”   
“He said he was beaten.” Erik nodded. “I can’t see any bruises or detect other injuries he should have.” Hank said, as calmly as he could.  
“Should have?” Erik snapped, angry again. Hank sighed.  
“Erik.” He said, patiently. “Charles was dragged off the street; tied up, bundled into a car. Before he got loose, they hit him, and after he got whatever the hell was in that injection, he ran all over the building before picking up a pipe and whacking the hell out of Schmidt.”  
“So?”

 

 

“So he should have scrapes and bruises, little ones, at least. I examined him; once you took him out of the bathroom. They’re not there.”  
“The injection?” Erik said. “I don’t know what that can have to do with m- with vampires. If it had been vampire blood, he should have been very sick, very fast, and then, probably, very dead.”  
“Even if it had been yours?” Hank said, scribbling away.  
“It must be drunk.” Erik said. “Even if I’d bitten them, the people he injected with my blood always died.” He stared down at his hands. “I can remember each and every face.” He added, more or less to himself.  
“Maybe the liver strips it out too soon...” Hank flipped the paper over.  
“Strips what out?” Erik said, bewildered.

“Whatever catalyst is needed, for the change…” Hank trailed off. “He said it was yellow?”  
“Yes; but it smelt of blood, and maybe tears.”  
“How did-“  
“I handled the syringe; I smelt it.” Hank stiffed and sat up.  
“You have the needle here?” Silently, Erik handed it over.  
“Here.”  
“I have to- how will you feel if I runs some tests on this?” Hank said. “I   
“How will I feel? That you are helping Charles.” Erik said, blankly. Hank bit his lip.   
“I also- if I try and take a blood sample from Charles, will you stop me?” Erik shook his head.  
“You won’t hurt him.” Hank wasn’t sure if that was an order or a statement from Erik. 

Erik shifted, uneasily, before continuing. “Would having a sample of my blood help?”  
“Yes.” Hank said, and watched Erik struggle with himself, before saying “I would need to take it to the university lab; but I wouldn’t need to take it _in_ the lab-“  
“Take it now.” Erik said, abruptly. “If you can.” He shoved his arm between Hank’s nose and the papers he was reading. Hank dropped the papers, and went for his kit. Erik breathed out through his nose and held himself still, thinking of Charles, lost in feverish and- judging by what his sensitive hearing was picking up- restless sleep in his bedroom.   
“You don’t need to worry about normal infections.” He said, as Hank fumbled tearing open a disinfectant wipe. A corner of Hank’s mouth turned up. He tied the band around Erik’s arm.

“I want a clean sample.” Hank said, as he quickly wiped the crook of the vampires’ elbow. Hank slipped the needle into the vein, and drew a syringeful of Erik’s thick, blackish blood, with some difficulty.  
“Done.” He said, calmingly, and Erik opened his eyes. Sweat had beaded on his forehead.  
“D- Thank you.” He said. Hank slipped a cotton pad over the tiny wound and folded Erik’s arm for him.  
“Keep the pressure on, for a bit. And I should be thanking you.” Hank said, stowing away the precious fluid. Erik waved his free hand.  
“For being quick.”  
“I- I have a key to one of the labs; if I go now, I can maybe start some tests before anyone gets in. Will you and Raven be ok?” Hank began to put everything back in the stolen briefcase. Erik nodded.

“We can share watching over him. If he… if he starts to Change, I know what can and can’t be done.”  
“Change?” Hank pulled his coat on.  
“Becoming a vampire is a very... distinctive process.” Erik said, dryly. “I can recognise the signs.”  
“That’s good.” Hank said, a little vaguely. “I wonder- the centrifuge in Lab two…” he trailed off, muttering to himself, as he walked to the door. Erik watched him go, and went back to trying to remember things he had sought to bury for years. There was a teasingly familiar element to Charles’ scent, now. What did it indicate? Erik threw the stained piece of cotton on the coffee table, and racked his brains again.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles dreams, Charles wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how exactly does a dream sequence feel, anyway? Who convinced me I knew how to write?
> 
> Does this make sense? Please let me know!

He knows he is dreaming; because drowning like this should hurt. Should hurt _more_. The amount of water he’s inhaling should burn; the lack of air should blacken his vision. His heart, should be faltering. If he has one. He’s not sure. But then, the water he cannot breathe is not really water, anyway. The water is words. Each drop of this ocean is a voice, a thought, washing at him, dissolving him further. Perhaps he’s just sea foam, a froth of bubbles. He thinks he might burst soon, somehow. Like a bubble; drifting and then gone, gone as if it was never there. _Like a candle flame_ he thinks, and tries to remember how to frown, because fire is- fire is bad.

How does one frown, anyway? Does he have a face, anywhere, to frown with? One that belongs to him? Is he there to be belonged to?

It’s quite gentle, this sea- gentle but inescapable; it seeps everywhere, flooding through the levees and the cracks and the storm drains to drink him up, to flood him completely. Something insists this ought not to be possible. _He_ ought not to be possible. But here he is- assuming he is anywhere; is a thing that can be at all; drifting deeper and deeper under every wave. Voices ripple against him and are gone.

_“Did Alex take the trash out?”_

_“Momeeeee! Sean ate the last cookie!”_

_“Don’t know what he thought he was doing-_ ”

Every one steals another scrap from him, another grain of himself. He tries to remember. One voice makes a low, groaning noise; the sound of pain or confusion without words. Maybe that’s him. He can’t tell. The tide keeps rising. He can’t breathe. The words, the voices are too much; he can’t separate them from himself long enough to absorb the air.

Who is he anyway?

What is he? 

_Charles._

This voice is different, somehow, familiar, and he lets it wash through him more easily.

_Charles. Please be ok. When you wake up, please be ok. I- we need you. Please._

Oh. 

That’s who he is. Charles remembers that, now. The other voices washed that thought away; this voice reminded him. He tries to stay by it, even as it makes more waves.

_should never have let him stay in; should have shouted at Erik, should have, should have._

It moans on, and on. He frowns. Charles doesn’t like it when she’s unhappy. Whoever she is. He tries to pet the voice, soothe it, but all that happens is he rolls himself away, swept into the crosscurrents again. The voices surge and mutter in his ear like the wind in a shell; all scraps from that great ocean of worries, hopes, dreams and fears that he is still floundering in.

 

 _… verdamnt idioten…_  
He comes to rest in the shadow of an angrily muttering rock. It arches over Charles protectively. He feels something familiar, that draws him in, as he drifts past it. The rock is not silent, but it’s so quiet he can’t really hear the words. They don't wear at him like the water does.

_ich leibe…_

That’s new. He doesn’t know what those words mean. Charles listens, and listens, but the words refuse to reveal their meaning to him. He stays under the shadow of the rock. It feels safer, although Charles can hardly say what safe means, or why. Waves of words wash past him. He feels like a splash of ink thrown into a pail of water; he spins slowly as he dissipates.

“You’re in a bit of a pickle, then, aren’t you? Who let a sprat like you out and about?” This voice… this voice is not water. It cuts through the other voices like a shark through the sea. The ocean convulses, and Charles is washed away from his friendly rock. He wishes he could make a noise himself, because he’s starting to think this should hurt, or be frightening.  
“Well? Just open your mouth!” the voice snaps, before there’s a pause. Charles scrapes enough of himself together to try.  
“Drowning. Already.” He offers, vaguely, and thinks about trying to find out where his eyes have gone.  
“Oh.” It says then. “Hmm.”

“ Help?”  
“Well, of course, but- PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, MAN!” the voice simply _bellows,_ abruptly, and Charles jumps, snapping together and opening his eyes. He can see… a small, white fish, palely luminous against the dark water. That’s all.  
“’M still drowning.” He reminds the fish. It glares at him. How can a fish glare so effectively? Perhaps it's in the wide set eyes.  
“Only because you are being stubborn. Stop fighting the water.”  
“It’ll wash me away.” He says, and wishes he was still unable to feel fear.  
The fish takes a deep breath, and blows it out in a long stream of bubbles.

It offers, thoughtfully. “If you can’t breathe as you are…” It trails off, and Charles rather thinks it would like to be able to shrug. “Then be a fish.”  
“What?”  
“Worked for me.” Says the fish, and gives him a wry smile. Charles blinks. Oh, of course. Just be a fish. He can do that, he’s sure. He locates enough of his face to give the fish an irritated look.  
“No need to be like that.” The fish says. “Give it a try; if it doesn’t work, we can use another metaphor. You’re responsible for the part where all this is water; after all.”

“Sorry.” The fish waves that away with an inperious, silken fin.  
"Try, sprat."  
 _Fish._ Charles thinks. He is a _fish._ Nothing happens.  
“Try harder!” the fish says, encouragingly. Charles tries, and it starts to hurt. He makes a protesting noise, but the white fish is relentless;. Charles keeps going, ignoring the pain, and then. And then.

Well, then, Charles is a fish. He can swim, he can control his boundaries, he can- The words trickle over his gills, and into him, but he’s not drowning anymore. He can breathe this water, he _can._ These voices are from people; they mean things. Things he can understand.  
“This is marvellous!” he tells the white fish, excitedly. “I- the words- are these people’s _thoughts?_ This is _fascinating._  
“Of course” the white fish says, turning. “Give my regards to Erik.” It flourishes it's tail in farewell.  
“Wait!” Charles shouts, but the fish is gone. Charles decides to try and find his rock again.

 

“Raven?” Erik leant in to the bedroom, and held up a steaming mug.  
“That had better not be tea.” Raven said, but she smiled, shakily. “He’s not woken or, or stopped breathing, or anything.”  
“It’s chocolate.” Erik said, quietly. “Go rest; I’ve got him for a bit.” Raven bit her lip. “Go and rest.” Erik insisted. “This is my time, anyway.”  
“What, are you going to say you’re a child of the night or something?” Raven said, dryly. “Quick hint, Erik- you’ll never make a convincing Goth.”  
“That’s what they said, too.” Erik murmured. “Raven. I need less sleep than you, and Hank is busy at the lab. Get some rest now- we’re going to need you later.” 

Muttering, Raven rose and stalked into the spare bedroom. Erik stole her seat and stared at Charles’s pale face, worriedly. He knew what the process of becoming a vampire looked like; and Charles was certainly not undergoing that transformation; but Erik could not rid himself of the feeling that _something_ was still happening to Charles, something that Erik did not recognise, even after his time in Schmidt’s labs.  
“What were you doing, Doktor?” he said aloud. Charles’s face twitched, folding itself into a frown. Erik reached out, and smoothed Charles’s damp hair from his face. His sleep-slack face unfurled from the frown, slowly.  
“Easy, leibling.” Erik said, more quietly. “I’m here.”

Charles’ eyes snapped open. "Erik.” he said, urgently. “Erik.” 

Erik bent over him  
“I’m here.” Charles stretched out a questioning hand. Erik gripped it, firmly. Charles’ grasp was firm, and still human-warm.  
“Erik.” Charles said again, and coughed. Erik offered him a glass of water, but Charles didn’t seem to see it. “Erik, I-“ He turned to look at Erik, his eyes huge and dark, almost glowing in the dim room. “I seem to be able to hear thoughts, now.”  
“Oh.” Erik said.  
"Everyone's thoughts." Charles added. "It's very interesting." He smiled, then, warm and deep as the ocean.  
"Oh." Erik said again. He offered the water glass again.

This time, Charles drank.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is: experiments, tea, mind reading, awkwardness, a small amount of angst and mocking of Twilight and Charles being called a girl's name.

Charles’s living room was full of a tense silence. Charles sat in one chair, hands flat against the arms. Raven sat in another, fidgeting. Erik watched Charles, anxiously. Hank took more and more notes as the impossible, incredible mind reading tests progressed. The mpre they revealed, the more Raven felt uncomfortable. This was getting way too weird for her. Charles closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Raven felt herself tense more, and fought to relax. This was her brother, Charles, for god’s sake. Charles drew in a breath, and began to speak.  
“You… you want a cup of tea.” Charles said, slowly. Hank muttered something and began scribbling notes again.

Raven grinned and nodded. Well. Tea wasn’t so bad. Not the way Charles knew to make it.  
“Two sugars, please.” She said cheekily. Charles groaned, and hauled himself out of his chair. As soon as he was out of the room, Raven dropped the cheerfulness from her face and looked worriedly at Erik.   
“He. He really can read my mind.” She said, wonderingly. Her nerves crawled, and she hurriedly tried to repress the discomfort the realisation had brought her. A mind reading brother was much harder to think about than a brother with a vampire boyfriend, somehow.

“Not just yours.” Erik said. “Everyone’s.” He smiled, widely..   
“How is this possible?” Hank said to himself, as he scrabbled for another piece of paper from the briefcase Erik had rescued from the fire.  
“Schmidt- Shaw-“ Erik said quietly. “He, he did something. To Charles.”   
“He can’t have been able to read minds.” Raven objected. “We’d have been in a lot more trouble.” Absently, Raven wondered just when _Erik_ gloomy Erik had become the go-to guy for advice and expertise on stuff.“I- I have known a, a vampire with similar powers.” Erik said, quietly. “Long ago.” Oh yeah. When they’d found out he was a vampire.

“But Charles isn’t a vampire.” Hank said thoughtfully. “I mean he doesn’t eat, er, drink-“  
“Blood?” Erik said, sharply. “No. His heart still beats. He can walk in the sun without burning.  
“About as much as he could before.” Hank said. “Which was never that much. That’s why the freckles and-”  
“And he still needs to breathe-“ Erik said, thoughtfully.  
“I don’t wanna know how you worked that one out.” Raven said. “Some things a sister should not know.” Erik raised an eyebrow at her; she smirked back. That was better; that felt more like she was back in a normal world. 

There was a sudden crash from the kitchen as Charles dropped something. That felt pretty normal, too. Raven hoped the cups had been empty. She didn’t want her brother to have hurt himself.  
“ _What_ did I say about salacious thoughts, Raven?” Charles called, rather urgently..   
“Sorry!” Raven shouted, unrepentantly. If Charles kept hearing things from her he’d rather not, maybe he’d stay out without her having to tell him. She didn’t know how to do that without making him sad, or feeling like she was in the wrong, somehow..

“No, you’re not.” Charles said, patiently, as he re-appeared with tea for all. Raven took her mug slightly warily; as if it or Charles were somehow suspect. Charles tried not to feel hurt. Hank accepted his cup without looking up from his work. Erik waited until he’d put down the tray, and then extend a long arm to drag Charles down to sit on the couch. Leaning against him, Charles smiled, slightly. At least some things didn’t change. The murmuring undersea of the city’s thoughts was new, and sometimes it made it harder to eat, or sleep, or concentrate but Erik was still the same Erik as ever. He was _reliable._ Reliably Erik, anyway.

“What was he like?” Charles said, wriggling to get comfortable. Erik lifted his hands away, until Charles had laid his head in his lap.  
“He who?” Erik began to comb his fingers through Charles’ hair. The rough raw-silk feel of Charles’s curls was endlessly fascinating to him. Charles found the whole stroking and finger combing rather soothing, and so he rarely protested.  
“This other vampire you knew; the one who could think-“  
“Ah. She was a great lady, a great, cold lady. I met her just a couple of times, no more.” Charles closed his eyes. He was still getting tired so easily.  
“Did she-“

“She could tell me little about other vampires.” Erik said. “Or she would not.” He sighed.  
“That was… oh, about five centuries ago.” He said thoughtfully.  
“Was she pretty?” Raven said.   
“Prettier than any Cullen, certainly.” Erik said, dryly, forcing down painful memories of the latest literary work featuring vampires that Raven had insisted he read. The girl was a shrewd tormentor. “Although she might have enjoyed the sparkling.” Emma probably would have done, at that. The woman had loved jewels.  
“You don’t have to read it just because she finds them for you.” Charles said, sleepily. Erik tugged the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over him. “Not if it disturbs you.”  
“Disturbing your boyfriend is why I make him read them.” Raven said. “He makes the best faces.”

“He pretends for you.” Charles murmured. He captured one of Erik’s hands and brought it to his cheek.  
“I don’t.” Erik said, flatly, to Raven. “I find the works you force on me horrible and without any merit.” Charles smiled.  
“He does.” He sing-songed. “Because he-“ Erik put a finger over Charles’s lips.  
“Go to sleep; I can feel your tiredness from here.” Hank said, suddenly. “If you make me drop off again, I’ll never get these notes done.”  
“Sorry.” Charles said. “I don’t- I didn’t-“  
“I know.” Hank said. “And I think I’m starting to understand that maniac’s thought-processes- or at least his notes.”

“Well, I gotta get my shoes on and skedaddle.” Raven said, quickly. “Hank, you need anything?”  
“I- are you heading back to your place?” Hank said, hopefully.  
“Yup.” Raven said, a little too brightly. “Thought I might clear up a bit there; the fridge will probably be feral by now.”  
“Great; do you mind watering the experiment and maybe bringing me back some books?” Hank said, hopefully. Raven bit her lip.  
“You’re coming back, though?” Charles said, opening his eyes, and raising his head. His forehead looked pinched. And he was still too pale. Erik didn’t like it.

Raven smiled, slightly strained herself.  
“Yeah, I just- I don’t want the cheese attaining sentience, you know? And I only brought a few clothes; I’ll be able to bring more.” Charles put his head back down. “I’ll be back tomorrow; day after at the latest.” There was a pause. “Promise.” Raven added, and moved to take the list Hank had been scribbling down. “Yeah, I can bring most of this. You need the car, or shall I cab it?”  
“I- ah, cab, please, sorry.” Hank said. “I need to get to the lab with some of this; and the car- I want to run it through a wash, or-“  
“They aren’t going to track us down because of dirt on your car, Hank.” Charles said, softly.  
“But- Shaw’s body-“ Hank said, unhappily. 

Charles tensed. Erik smoothed his hand across Charles’s furrowed forehead, gently.  
“Hank.” Erik said, and waited until the young scientist looked at him. “Schimdt- he never saw, never touched your car, right?” Hank nodded. “And trust me, there’s no body to find. Not after the fire.”   
“Are you sure?” Charles said. “Human bone-“  
“They won’t be able to find anything they can identify.” Erik said. “And I dumped the knife. It’s just a kitchen knife any way, they sell millions just like it.”

That brought a slightly awkward silence to the room. No one really wanted to ask Erik precisely what he’d done to Shaw; correction, thought Charles, they all wanted to _ask_. They just weren’t sure they wanted to know. The silence lasted until Raven broke it.  
“Ok.” She said, grabbing her handbag. “I’ll get the bus there and a cab back.” She bent and kissed the top of Hank’s head, quickly. “Be good, Charles.” She added, almost over her shoulder as she walked to the door. Charles lifted his head again.  
“You’re not telling Erik to be good.” He said, mock petulantly. She smiled at him across the room, but she didn’t approach to kiss him goodbye. Charles wondered if he was being foolish about that; after all, he was lying in Erik’s lap. But still…

“Don’t have to.” She said. “If you’re being good, he will be too.” She smiled again, and the door shut behind her. Charles sighed. There was trouble of some kind brewing between him and Raven; he could just tell. He didn’t look forwards to the yelling and the tears and the talking that would have to ensue before he worked out what he’d done wrong this time.  
“Sleep.” Erik said, firmly. “She’ll come back.” _If I have to fetch her myself._ his thoughts promised Charles. Charles’ lips curved up. He shifted slightly, and felt Erik reach for his book.   
“Dark Harvest of Blood III is a good name for a band, you know.” He said. “If not a book.”  
“Shut up, Bella.” Erik said. Hank snorted. “Go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I've very nearly finished this one; therefore I have to ask you all  
> What, if anything do you want explained/shown before the epilogue chapter turns up? Anything that wasn't clear, scenes you'd like to see, threads you'd like to see tied up, anthing like that?  
> What of my WIPS would you most like to see me tackle next?


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy endings for all!

“Erik.” Charles called, laughing, as he slammed the front door behind him. “You’ll never guess what Emma said this time!” He smiled, as he felt the touch of Erik’s mind approaching. Journeys were harder when they took him out of mental touching distance with his family- especially Erik.  
“I’m sure I won’t have to guess.” Erik said, mildly, as he surveyed his prey from the gallery above the front hall. “And I’m still not getting into bed with her.” Charles’ face fell.  
“But-“ he said, flushing. _That wasn’t what I meant!_ he flung at Erik, telepathically.

Erik didn’t even blink, used as he was now to arguments that only required five seconds shared eye contact, never mind verbal fire power. A decade or so of watching Charles and his sister had got him used to silent conflicts. Perhaps one day Hank might be used to them as well. Now, they still made him bristle and shuffle about, uneasy at being caught up in the middle of stinging sibling confrontations. Erik never let them bother him, unless they interrupted the time he could spend with a naked and conscious Charles. Then Erik might act; although he was no longer allowed to attempt to be patriarchal. Charles had sneaky and underhanded ways of exploiting that. Speaking of which-

“No more threesomes, Charles.” Erik said, solemnly. “They don’t always work out so well.”  
“What do you mean, _more_?” Charles said. “And no, she didn’t actually proposition you- or me- this time. Not for _that_.” Erik sighed, and started to walk down the stairs towards his love.  
“Then what-“ he broke off, leisurely as any well fed predator, to kiss Charles, deeply “Did she want this time?” It took a certain amount of time for Charles’s knees to firm up again after that kiss. Vaguely he noticed his knees were not the only thing firming up, as it were. His news seemed a little less important. Erik moved his hands purposefully and Charles gasped. Definitely less, ah- pressing than greeting Erik properly.

Too long. They’d been apart too long. Charles stifled a groan.  
“Stop that.” He said, breathlessly. Erik smirked. Charles’s eyes went wide.  
“Why?” Erik nosed over Charles’s neck, and nibbled an earlobe, thoughtfully. Charles grabbed on to Erik’s shoulders. He was only just in time, he realised, as Erik resumed kissing.  
“Be-because it makes it hard-“ Charles said said, and had to cough, before his voice cracked.  
“That’s the idea-“ Erik breathed, warmly. Charles twitched.  
“Difficult for me to think when you do- oh, do that again.” Charles said, rather desperately.  
“Don’t do that again.” Raven said, sharply. Erik froze, abruptly. Charles made a little protesting noise.  
“Not ever?” Erik said, in his most bereft manner. He wondered if he should try pouting. It always looked good on Charles…

“Perhaps not in the front hall?” Hank said, apologetically, behind her. He was polishing his glassed again, Erik noticed. Vaguely he wondered why Hank still bothered with them; it wasn’t as if he still needed them. Not after unravelling some of the science behind that serum; and that had been years ago. Habit was a strange-  
“Oh, sorry.” Charles said, flushing deliciously. “I-“   
“I don’t want to know.” Raven said. “I’m going to make you your welcome home tea in the blue room, Charles. Be there in an hour. Or two.”  
“I’ll make sure he’s there.” Erik promised as he dragged Charles upstairs.  
“Try and make sure you both _shower._ ” Hank called, laughing. “Afterwards. My nose can’t take it anymore!”

Erik was still muttering curses about Hank’s nose when he dropped Charles on the bed.  
“Oh, don’t worry about it, love.” Charles said, brightly. “Hank’s come to terms with who he is now, just as I have.”  
“I should have taken that briefcase away from him before-“ Erik said.  
“I’m glad it’s not just the two of us against the world.” Charles said, cheerfully. Erik began to remove his shoes.  
“No?” he said, carelessly, and began to remove Charles’s clothes.  
“Well. I think we might have been rather lonely, eventually.” Charles said, and then abandoned the conversation for rapt contemplation of the sight that was Erik removing his _own_ clothes.

“I hope you’ve been eating plenty of red meat.” Erik said, returning to the bed. Charles nodded, quickly.   
“And spinach, and-“ Erik grinned, and his fangs dropped into view. Charles stopped talking.  
“Good.” Erik said, and raised an eyebrow.  
“What?” Charles said. “I think you should know, Charles.” Erik said as he bent over him further, crawling down the bed. “I’m very hungry.” The light glinted on his fangs.  
“Oh good.” Charles said, running his fingers through Erik’s hair. “So am – ERIK!” Erik drew in his fangs and chuckled around Charles’s cock. Charle’s head fell back on the pillow with a small thud.  
 _Erik…,_ Charles’s mind wrapped itself around his thoughts dazedly.  
 _Very, very hungry._ Erik said, silently. Charles’ response was entirely satisfactory. Erik hummed, smirking to himself as he felt Charles begin to writhe. He began to suck in earnest.

Much, much later, when Erik had- temporarily- satisfied his own appetite, and Charles’s, too, they lay stretched out in the huge, warm bed they shared.  
“So.” Erik said, rolling over and leaning his head on one hand. “A good trip?” Charles smiled.  
“You weren’t there.” Erik hummed, lightly, and began to trace constellations of Charles’s freckles.  
“You came home unharmed.” Erik said. “That makes it a good trip for me.” Charles smiled, slightly sleepily.  
“Came home to find the old place still standing.” He said, cheerfully.

“Did you think I’d let it collapse in your absence?” Erik said, teasing. Charles shook his head.  
“Raven might take into her head to redecorate again.” he said. “She likes a change up, every decade or so.” Erik sighed. He knew that, too.  
“And what changes did Emma want to propose?” Erik said, warily.  
“Emma?” Charles said. “Oh, nothing much.” He smiled. “Just some ideas about opening a school.”  
“A _school?_ ” Erik said, incredulously.  
“For people like us.” Charles said. “It’s quite an idea…”  
"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So; one happy ending for everyone! Hank's a little wolfy, Raven's not, but everyone has vampire-compatible life spans. And Emma squeezed herself in there, too. Yay!  
> I may revisit this verse, if Excepttemptation and I manage to cross her Vampire verse XMFC fic over with mine for giggles, poignancy and maybe threesomes.  
> I will now go and focus on my WIPS.
> 
> Quick question- I work in word, and then cut and paste into AO3. This time, after pasting, I cound not scroll down and alter anything past a certain point in the text- I could not get the cursor there to stay and let me type anything. It kept returning to another spot in the chapter. I've notied it do that before in comments, but never in a chapter. Anyone know what I've done wrong/ could do to alter it back again? It's going to make editing much harder.


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